Chapter 1
Coming Home
Kerry had always liked the music best of all. The way it seemed to soar, drawing her in, then sliding inside her...there was something exquisite and indescribable about it. It was a sensation that was completely unique, one she couldn't get from anything else. She thought about it constantly, so much so that she basically lived from one Sunday to the next.
But there were other ways it affected her that simply made Kerry blush. She remembered the first time it made her wet, the experience indelibly stuck in her mind. She was all of fourteen years old, and it happened during one of the services when she was singing, a featured soloist, in fact.
She'd been trying to hone in on a boy in the choir, just a kid she had a thing for, when she was a kid herself. A meaningless, adolescent thing, really, he was more nerdy than cute, but definitely her type, and Kerry remembered the exact instant when their eyes locked.
Now Kerry laughed that memory, how embarrassed she'd been, how confusing the experience had been, all of it. She felt her skin flush and clenched her legs together in spite of herself, even though her circumstances now were completely different.
She was 22 now, just out of college, Oberlin, in fact, one of the best music colleges in the country. And she'd managed to graduate early with an impossibly high GPA as well and a reputation as one of the best mezzo sopranos the school had ever produced
But none of that seemed to matter much when she couldn't get a job and she had to move back to Mississippi, which Kerry referred to as the land of mud. That was the way she felt when she was living with her father, a pastor and a widower whose presence had smothered her like a dark cloud throughout her childhood. She tried to recall the number of times she'd run away, at least three, maybe even four or five, but the exact number eluded her.
Now her life was a nightmare. Or at least it felt like one. Her father was all over her constantly, treating her as if she was 14 again, which Kerry supposed she'd always be in his eyes. Curfews, constant monitoring and a steady stream of inquiries about what she was going to do with her life were all part of the daily routine. All of the joy she'd felt in college, the feeling of being special, being on scholarship and one of the stars of the vocal program, all of that was gone.
And as the weeks and months continued to grind on, it started to feel as if none of it had ever happened.
Still, she had Sundays. Her father gave her that, and at times he tacitly acknowledged what she had done at Oberlin, allowing her to shine as a soloist. He even seemed to be ok with the publicity that came with it, the praise from the parishioners, the local newspaper story that came out shortly after her return, all of that.
Kerry suspected he was pretending much of the time, knowing he had a bottomless pit of an ego, which she'd seen more times than she could count growing up. The womanizing, the chest-thumping sermons and homilies, his constant insistence on being the center of attention, all of it was still present when she returned. She'd caught her share of sidelong glances and sharp comments from him when the praise was just a little too profuse, but Kerry still managed to enjoy it for what it was, not letting the sadness overwhelm her when he made his true feelings known.
Fortunately, there were new distractions in her musical routine that kept her from going stark, raving mad. Kerry worked in the church shop during the week, a job she'd held as a teenager, the part-time work giving her some independence and freedom. Now it was like an albatross around her neck, keeping her under her father's wing, at least until the arrival of the new choir director.
The old one, Lance O'Dell, was a tired, stale dud of a man, rehearsing the same hymns week after week until they were basically beaten into the ground. Finally, when Kerry was about to scream in agony at one
Coming Home
Kerry had always liked the music best of all. The way it seemed to soar, drawing her in, then sliding inside her...there was something exquisite and indescribable about it. It was a sensation that was completely unique, one she couldn't get from anything else. She thought about it constantly, so much so that she basically lived from one Sunday to the next.
But there were other ways it affected her that simply made Kerry blush. She remembered the first time it made her wet, the experience indelibly stuck in her mind. She was all of fourteen years old, and it happened during one of the services when she was singing, a featured soloist, in fact.
She'd been trying to hone in on a boy in the choir, just a kid she had a thing for, when she was a kid herself. A meaningless, adolescent thing, really, he was more nerdy than cute, but definitely her type, and Kerry remembered the exact instant when their eyes locked.
Now Kerry laughed that memory, how embarrassed she'd been, how confusing the experience had been, all of it. She felt her skin flush and clenched her legs together in spite of herself, even though her circumstances now were completely different.
She was 22 now, just out of college, Oberlin, in fact, one of the best music colleges in the country. And she'd managed to graduate early with an impossibly high GPA as well and a reputation as one of the best mezzo sopranos the school had ever produced
But none of that seemed to matter much when she couldn't get a job and she had to move back to Mississippi, which Kerry referred to as the land of mud. That was the way she felt when she was living with her father, a pastor and a widower whose presence had smothered her like a dark cloud throughout her childhood. She tried to recall the number of times she'd run away, at least three, maybe even four or five, but the exact number eluded her.
Now her life was a nightmare. Or at least it felt like one. Her father was all over her constantly, treating her as if she was 14 again, which Kerry supposed she'd always be in his eyes. Curfews, constant monitoring and a steady stream of inquiries about what she was going to do with her life were all part of the daily routine. All of the joy she'd felt in college, the feeling of being special, being on scholarship and one of the stars of the vocal program, all of that was gone.
And as the weeks and months continued to grind on, it started to feel as if none of it had ever happened.
Still, she had Sundays. Her father gave her that, and at times he tacitly acknowledged what she had done at Oberlin, allowing her to shine as a soloist. He even seemed to be ok with the publicity that came with it, the praise from the parishioners, the local newspaper story that came out shortly after her return, all of that.
Kerry suspected he was pretending much of the time, knowing he had a bottomless pit of an ego, which she'd seen more times than she could count growing up. The womanizing, the chest-thumping sermons and homilies, his constant insistence on being the center of attention, all of it was still present when she returned. She'd caught her share of sidelong glances and sharp comments from him when the praise was just a little too profuse, but Kerry still managed to enjoy it for what it was, not letting the sadness overwhelm her when he made his true feelings known.
Fortunately, there were new distractions in her musical routine that kept her from going stark, raving mad. Kerry worked in the church shop during the week, a job she'd held as a teenager, the part-time work giving her some independence and freedom. Now it was like an albatross around her neck, keeping her under her father's wing, at least until the arrival of the new choir director.
The old one, Lance O'Dell, was a tired, stale dud of a man, rehearsing the same hymns week after week until they were basically beaten into the ground. Finally, when Kerry was about to scream in agony at one
Similar Books
