Kennedy Stern Christian Suspense Complete Box Set (Books 1-9)

Straightened-1

Straightened

a novel by Alana Terry

The views of the characters in this novel do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.

The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic, audio, print, film, etc.) without the author’s written consent.

Straightened

Copyright © 2016 Alana Terry

Cover design by Damonza.

Scriptures quoted from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

www.alanaterry.com

IMPORTANT NOTEThis is not a novel that attempts to answer the question Is homosexuality right or wrong. Whatever your moral beliefs about homosexuality, I fully expect you to hold those same beliefs once you reach the end of this novel. However, I do hope that what you read in Straightened will lead to more open discussions, deeper empathy, and greater unity — three things that seem too often to be lacking in the homosexuality debate.

Please note that just because somebody in my novel espouses a particular point of view, that doesn’t mean it is what I personally believe. I refuse to write preachy fiction, and I’m convinced that if we all agreed on every single hot-button issue out there, the world would be a boring place, and this novel would be void of all suspense and danger.

As it is, this novel is filled with plenty of suspense as well as danger, and I hope you enjoy it for its storyline as much as anything else you may glean from it.

Alana Terry

CHAPTER 1By the time her plane landed, Kennedy’s left leg was asleep from the thigh down. Her throat was parched from all that waterless air being pumped into the cabin at 30,000 feet as she traveled across the globe.

What a way to start her sophomore year. Her pulse pounded its complaints between her temples. She didn’t have the mental energy to calculate an exact number, but she guessed it had been longer than twenty-four hours ago that she said good-bye to her missionary parents in Yanji, China.

Another year at Harvard. Another grueling schedule.

She hoped she was ready.

“It was nice talking to you.” The man who had pestered her the entire flight gave her a slight wave as he walked past her on the jetway. She wondered how much more reading she could have gotten in on that last flight if it weren’t for his incessant questions about life in China.

He was nice enough, and intelligent by all appearances. If Kennedy hadn’t been so sleep deprived and already on her third flight of the day, she might have enjoyed their conversation. Asked him questions of her own. Learned about his home in Paris.

Not tonight.

Actually, it was morning now.

Whatever.

She shifted the weight of her backpack and reminded herself that her burden would be significantly lighter if she could learn to read ebooks instead of always insisting on print. Oh, well. A clunky piece of electronics could never replace that dusty smell of a well-worn, familiar volume. She’d worked her way through several Shakespeare plays on the flight from Yanji, China to Seoul. Crossing the Pacific, she’d finally had mercy on her dry corneas, taken out her contacts, and tried to nap. On her last flight from Seattle to Boston, she could have finished an extra play or two if Mr. Charming French Accent hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation so many times.

And why had she felt so put off by his interest? This was the start of a new year. A new chance at academics, at life. How many girls her age would love to spend a trans-continental flight flirting with a cute Frenchie who was obviously curious enough about her to ask that many open-ended questions? And what had she done? Kept her nose buried in her book so she wouldn’t miss the chance to read A Winter’s Tale for the sixth time. And what for? The queenly statue would still be ready to dazzle the repentant King Leontes after Kennedy landed at Logan Airport.

Too late now, she thought as she watched her well-dressed traveling companion disappear into an airport bookstore. She thought about browsing the titles there, but Sandy — her pastor’s wife and maternal proxy while Kennedy was Stateside — was already waiting outside baggage claim. The dorms wouldn’t open until the end of the week, so Kennedy would spend a few days with the Lindgrens to allow her body to recover from the ravaging effects of jetlag before she jumped into another twenty-two-credit semester. She glanced at the time. It was a few minutes past noon, even though her biological clock knew it was the middle of the night back home.

Home? She had been so sure going back to China would be that breath of fresh air, that reprieve her soul had longed for during her freshman year at Harvard. But things were so different when she returned to Yanji last spring.

Home. Wasn’t that supposed to be where you felt the most comfortable? The most accepted? She hadn’t realized how much she’d changed from nine short months of school.

“Kennedy!”

At the sound of the familiar voice, a warm surge of peace rushed over her, like the comforting whiff of homemade apple pie flooding out of an open oven. There was Sandy with her brown hair hanging in a loose French braid. A pouting little boy was scowling by her side, and he held himself back as Sandy wrapped her arms around Kennedy’s neck, flooding her senses with the mingling smells of fabric softener and flowery shampoo. “I’m so happy you made it. You must be exhausted.”

Kennedy wanted to express how good it felt to be home, but the words stuck in her throat. “This must be Woong,” she said instead. All she had seen was a picture last spring when the Lindgrens decided to adopt him from a South Korean orphanage. He looked about as mischievous as his photo had intimated, except now there wasn’t a trace of that cocky grin. She leaned toward him. “I’m really glad to meet you.” She always felt so out of place around children, never knowing what to say, how exactly to talk to them at their level without using that stereotypical baby voice she remembered hating as a kid.

Woong crossed his arms against his chest with something that was a mix between a huff and a growl. “Miss Sandy said you were Korean, but I knew she was lying.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

It wasn’t until Kennedy caught Sandy’s quizzical stare that she realized she and Woong had been speaking in Korean. She straightened up and explained, “I don’t think he expected me to be white.”

Sandy put her hand on the boy’s head, and he immediately squirmed out of her reach. “We’re still at the language-learning stage. It’s been ...” She tucked a stray piece of hair, tinged with gray, behind her ear. “It’s been a struggle for us both.” A loud sigh, heavier than what Kennedy imagined could reside in a soul as peaceful and joyful as Sandy’s. “Maybe you could tell him ...”

“Hey, how do you know Korean anyway?” he demanded.

“My parents had a lot of people from Korea living with them, so I learned it that way.”

“Why do you sound so funny?” he asked, but before Kennedy could explain about foreign accents, he turned to Sandy. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s one of the only English words he’ll use,” Sandy muttered. She patted Woong on the back. “You can have a granola bar in the car.” She made a motion like she was removing a wrapper and then took a big imaginary bite. “Granola bar,” she repeated.

Woong rolled his eyes.

Kennedy was thankful she wouldn’t have kids of her own any time soon. A decade at the very least. Three more years of undergrad, med school, residency ... It was a good thing too, because Kennedy didn’t have a never-ending reservoir of patience or compassion like Sandy. She would probably make about as good of a parent as Hamlet’s mother.

“Enjoy your year of school, Miss.”

Kennedy turned around to see her French travel partner. “Thanks. And good luck with your meeting thing.” What had he said he was in Boston for? Some consulting gig, she thought, or maybe more like an interview. She wasn’t sure. His title was something about quality control, but even though she’d heard her dad use that phrase, all she knew was it had to do with business and captivated absolutely none of her interest.

“Who was that?” Sandy asked once he was out of earshot. Her face held a bemused, almost teasing grin.

“Just some guy from the plane.”

“He looks very nice.”

Kennedy didn’t answer. Her mind was elsewhere. On hopes that could never be fulfilled.

She wouldn’t think about it. This year was a new start for her. No use pining about the past.

While Woong whined and tugged on Sandy’s arm, Kennedy adjusted her carry-ons. She hadn’t brought much with her this year. She stored most of her belongings in the Lindgrens’ garage over the summer, except for clothes and a few books she had purchased ahead of time for her fall classes.

She tried to guess how much longer she could stay awake until her body crashed. Her dad was adamant that whenever she travelled internationally, she had to wait for dark before she thought of sleeping. Well, Kennedy would try, but she doubted she’d make it another hour, let alone eight.

By the time they reached the airport exit, Woong was trying to hurl himself onto the floor. Kennedy was sure he was about to tug Sandy’s arm out of its socket as he flung himself on the ground for a full-fledged fit. The Lindgrens could only guess his age based on the records from the South Korean orphanage, but he was old enough to look ridiculous throwing a tantrum like a spoiled toddler. Kennedy stepped back, wondering if she should help Sandy get him up.

“Ok, son,” Sandy finally said, letting go of his hand. “No TV time.”

Up until then, Kennedy wasn’t sure how much English Woong really understood, but at the mention of TV, he slumped down on the floor. His bottom lip stuck out so far past his chin Kennedy could picture a bird landing on it like her dad used to joke about.

“Ready for your snack?” Sandy asked. There was a tired, defeated undercurrent in her tone that was totally foreign to her.

Woong stared ahead for another few seconds before getting to his feet. “Ok.” He only protested slightly when Sandy took his hand. Kennedy wheeled her suitcase behind them and followed the pair out into the blinding midday sun.

The drive to Medford was quiet. Kennedy lost track of how many granola bars she passed back to Woong before he finally stopped pestering for more. Sandy’s praise and worship music played softly in the background as they turned into the Lindgrens’ neighborhood.

“Oh.” Sandy frowned when she pulled past a glistening gray Lexus in her driveway. “Looks like Vivian Abernathy is here.”

Kennedy didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she wanted to interact with anybody or anything right now, unless it was the soft mattress in the Lindgrens’ guest room. She hadn’t seen any of the Abernathys since last fall when she’d been kidnapped with their daughter Jodie. She wasn’t sure she could face them without any haunting flashbacks of her abduction. She didn’t want her first PTSD flare-up of the school year to come within an hour of landing on American soil.

“I bet she’s checking in with Carl about those homeschool dances she wants to host in the gym.” She was talking more to herself than anyone else. Kennedy couldn’t remember seeing Sandy so distracted before. Usually the two of them couldn’t drive for more than five minutes without Kennedy unburdening her entire soul. And as tired as she was after three long flights, she could use a listening ear. It had been a strange summer. So many things to process ...

“Woong, pick up those wrappers. And your father has company, so I want you to go play nicely in your room.”

“TV.”

Kennedy wondered how anyone could live with that shrill, defiant voice in their ears every day and still maintain their sanity.

Sandy got out of her seat and opened Woong’s door. “You lost your TV privilege, son.” She leaned closer and shook her head. “No TV.”

Kennedy could hear Woong working himself up into another tantrum, a tantrum she really didn’t have the energy to deal with. Besides, she was a little embarrassed on Sandy’s behalf. Kennedy had always assumed Sandy was the type of mom who could make any kid behave within twenty-four hours. Was Woong destined to be the Lindgrens’ biggest failure as adoptive parents?