The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

poignantly loud.
    “Do you want to talk?” Olivia asked, desperately hoping Laurel wouldn’t take her up on the offer. She had enough on her mind without having to listen to her friend’s marital woes.
    Laurel was quiet for so long that Olivia began to believe she’d be spared, but finally, her friend released a mournful sigh and pressed her cheek against the window glass, as though welcoming the coolness against her skin. “You can’t have it all, you know. The media makes it look like any woman can have well-adjusted kids and a happy marriage and a successful career, but that’s total crap. The most we can hope for is kids who won’t grow up to be serial killers, a marriage that exists out of habit, and a career where you take on more than you can handle because if you don’t, you look weak.”
    “So which part of living an imperfect life bothers you the most?” Olivia glanced at her friend in the rear-view mirror.
    Laurel’s voice quavered. “Not being a good mother. Nothing matters more to me than those boys.”
    “And quitting your job? Will that make you a better mother?”
    “I don’t know,” Laurel whispered after a lengthy pause.
    Olivia could hear the pain in her friend’s voice but was unsure how to console her. After all, she had no experience juggling a family and a career. She’d never had to worry about her checkbook balance or raise children or hold the interest of any man for more than a few months. Yet she firmly believed that everyone deserved their share of happiness as long as they were working at fulfilling their dreams. Laurel was a fighter at heart, and Olivia disliked seeing the younger woman so deflated.
    “As you may know, my mother worked at the local library,” she spoke softly and put one hand on Haviland’s neck, her eyes locked on the road. “Some of my fondest memories were of her packing our lunches each morning—hers for work and mine for school. I’d sit in the kitchen and watch her get ready for the day while I ate breakfast. I remember how carefully she’d iron her blouse and that her hair looked so professional pinned up away from her face. She’d hum as she got ready for work, and I knew she looked forward to it every day.” Olivia paused, reveling in the memory.
    With the smoke gray road in front and a washed-out sky overhead, it was easy to become lost in the cozy scene. Olivia could almost smell the oatmeal cooking on the stovetop, hear the bustle of her mother’s skirt as she moved about the room, and feel the sunbeams coming in through the window over the sink, marbling the table with warmth. With her father at sea, these mornings with her mother were filled with a simple kind of peace, and Olivia held on tightly to the vision until the lights of town seemed to burn it away.
    “The point I’m trying to make is that I noticed the pride my mother took in her work. She loved her job. It was important to her. It helped to define her. As her daughter, I took note of how she felt, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her—a working woman.” Olivia glanced back at Laurel. “I was proud of my mother, and your boys will be proud of you. If you slink off to the paper with the weight of the world on your shoulders, you’re teaching them that work is misery. Yet I’ve seen the glimmer in your eyes when you’re running down an exciting story, and the twins will see it too, if you’d only show it to them.” She turned down Laurel’s street. “You can be an inspiration to your children, Laurel. Frankly, I can’t imagine a better gift.”
    Olivia pulled in front of Laurel’s charming Cape Cod–style home and put the Range Rover in park. She kept the engine running.
    Laurel looked at the illuminated windows, which bathed the lawn and flagstone path with a soft white light, and put her hand on the door handle. She did not get out of the car. “Everything I love is in that house, so why don’t I want to go in?”
    Pivoting in her seat, Olivia asked, “Because you feel that your love is not equally returned?”
    Swallowing hard, Laurel nodded.
    “Then tell that to the person who needs to hear it,” Olivia ordered. “No fairy godmother is going to swoop down and make your problems disappear. Get in there and go to work. You love your job? Fight for it. You love your husband? Fight for him. You want your family to be united? Unite it!”
    Laurel opened the door. “Okay, okay, I will. But first, I’m going to have another glass of