Laura would come home at all hours.
When she didn’t come back, they would be worried sick about her. And when she did come back she would be making a racket, causing a scene.
Out of her mind, sometimes. By then they thought she was
involved with drugs
of some sort.
It was exhausting.
So when she left, there was just –
this
silence.
This blessed silence.
As though a storm had passed.
They were worried sick for her, of course. And they missed her.
The pain was physical.
But it was so quiet.
And they slept.
Ginny would never have imagined sleep could be possible with a daughter away,
away in the world, and no idea where she’d gone.
But they slept.
It was one way to escape.
She’d left a note, which didn’t say
enough.
There were letters in the post, and later there were photographs.
She wanted them to know she was okay.
She looked happy. She was
happy
without them.
That was difficult.
The police said there was nothing they could do, once the letters arrived.
If she’s safe and well and she doesn’t want to come home, they said,
there’s nothing we can do.