Chapter 30 - Salt the Stairs [https://cdn.midjourney.com/07f67472-ee1a-4fc2-a388-9a69e97d3fa4/0_2.png]

Hands trembling, Kennedy stuffed more clothes into the plastic trash bag in front of her. Angrily, she wiped a fresh tear from her hot, swollen face. She was a grown woman, not a baby. It was past time that she stopped living in her mother’s basement.

A loud, relentless banging had woken her at nine-thirty. Even burying her head under the pillows hadn’t muffled the noise. The repetitive sound was relentless. Wrapped in her childhood comforter, she’d staggered up the stairs wearing a t-shirt to make sure everything was okay and discovered her mom had locked her door from the outside. Bolted it. The woman hadn’t changed her mind. She never did. They spoke through the locked door.

“I want you out of here today, Kendie.”

“Where will I go?”

“Considering your poor choices, probably hell.”

“Mom?! I need time.”

“We don’t have that. The clock is ticking, Kendie. Mr. Bob is here to make sure I am safe.”

“From what?”

“You…”

*

Whatever Kennedy didn’t have out of the house today, her mom was going to burn in a bonfire in the backyard. That’s what she had done to her father’s things in her grief. The flames had licked the sky. Installing new locks throughout the house with their neighbor, Mr. Bob, wasn’t a quiet affair.

As she cursed under her breath, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open to expose Mr. Bob, standing at the top with a shotgun cradled in his arms. “Are you ready to go?”

Seated in the center of a pile of plastic trash bags and half-packed boxes, Kennedy stared at him. Clearly, she wasn’t. “No.”

Had her mother told him she was a drug addict? A criminal? He’d always believed her mom’s crazy stories and ideas about the world, half in love with her even though she ignored him. Kennedy didn’t have a car. What was she going to do? Drag a bunch of plastic bags down the street like a hobo? She’d been shoving things into boxes all morning. Her room looked like it had experienced an explosion. What to leave? What to take? She didn’t know if she would get to come back to visit. Her life had gone crazy.

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At the top of the stairway, her mom appeared next to Mr. Bob and dumped salt down the stairs, as if Kennedy was some kind of slug or evil spirit that had to be kept from the main house. Mr. Pibble gingerly walked down the steps over the white crystals. Her mother stepped down one step as if she was going to retrieve the cat and stopped herself.

Was she scared of her? Mr. Bob seemed unfazed by her scattering of salt and shifted his gun to the side to make room for her mother to slide past him to limp back toward the living room. It felt weird to have him standing there watching her stuff random things into a sagging box.

“Sandy said I could stay on her couch for a few days, but she can’t come get me until her shift ends at three.” Thank goodness, she had found her second charging cord in her nightstand, or she would have ended up sitting in the front yard with all of her shit.

“Just so you know, I’m going to be right here until you are clear of this house.”

“Yeah. I guessed that from the gun and my door being locked this morning.” Angrily, she snapped open another trash bag and Mr. Pibble skittered backward, startled. “It would be nice to have a cup of coffee.”

In response, Mr. Bob closed her door and slid the lock home. Perfect. So helpful. Her mother’s cat approached her on delicate white dusted feet. The rumble of his purr was soothing, and she gathered him into her arms for a cuddle. At least she had one friend in the house. Rubbing the underside of her chin across the top of his head, she took time to brush salt from his fur.

Kennedy had a place to go to tonight. She could catch the bus to work from Sandy’s apartment. That is, if she could get her job back. It wasn’t fair. Going to the mountains for a few days wasn’t supposed to change the entire structure and stability of your life.

By the time three-thirty rolled around, she was starving and thirsty. Out of spite, she’d peed in the trash can. They’d refused to let her come upstairs to use the bathroom. Mr. Bob cracked the door open and called down the stairwell. “Your ride is here.” Unsure how much would fit in Sandy’s car, Kennedy gathered up the first load of what she had packed. When he leveled the gun at her, as she put her foot on the first step, she frowned at him. “You helped me learn to ride a bike, remember?”

“Back door. Nice and slow. I know what you are now.”

The sound of her mom praying echoed through the house, her pauses filled with a low, steady moan. Crazy had clearly followed her home.

In the past, when Mr. Bob had come over, he’d told her stories about her dad. They’d been friends. He’d known her since she was little. As she reached the landing, she whispered, “I’m still me.”

In response, he pulled back the hammer with a heavy click. Kennedy swallowed a cold stone of fear, choking on the change in these people she had known her whole life. She backed up and cautiously headed toward the back door. Is this what had happened to her birth family? They had taken one look at her little face and seen that she was something bad? Is that why they had shoved her out of their lives?

Giving Mr. Bob lots of room, and going slow, one trip after another, she dragged her things up the stairs to the back door. There was so much she was leaving behind and she had no doubt that in this state, her mother really would burn everything she left. On the hallway wall, squares of less faded wallpaper marked where her mother had already removed pictures of her. How could someone erase the life of their kid from their house over a trip to the mountains?