Harriet moved out.
Four of her friends came to the flat, helped her carry her things. They ignored Rebecca and Maxie, spoke to each other. In under six minutes Harriet was gone.
There was no sentimental good bye, no kissing or hugging, Harriet moved quickly so that neither Maxie nor Rebecca had a chance to make a statement. Harriet’s friends did all the the talking and laughing, moving in and out. One could hear them in the hallway as they waited for the elevator.
Then, silence, they were gone. Harriet had gone.
Their beloved daughter, had packed and left. Harriet left as if she had been at some bus station. She didn’t call. The only communication was when Rebecca called and Harriet requested her mother limit the calls to once a week.
The few times Harriet visited was when her mother begged. She’d breeze in, maybe with a companion, maybe alone, spend an hour or less and out.
Rebecca tried to be positive about Harriet, but her words rang false, even to her own ears.