Page 30 of The Last Housewife

“Laurel’s friend.” Mrs. Hargrove’s words were slurred. I could tell immediately she was drunk.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, eighteen again. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I wanted to talk to you because I loved Laurel, and I’m worried the police aren’t investigating her death properly. I was hoping—”

There was a crashing noise, and a sharp crack across the line.

“Mrs. Hargrove? Are you all right? Did you fall?”

“You want to hash out all the gory details.” Laurel’s mom sounded breathless. “Did you know I hadn’t talked to her in years?”

I looked through the window at the night sky. The stars were so vivid that I thought, for a second, they’d crept closer. Maybe Laurel had done it, like a sign.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hargrove.”

Jamie caught my eye and mouthedSpeaker?I pressed the button, and Mrs. Hargrove’s voice filled the car. “I was worried about her. That’s why she stopped talking to me, because she said I was nagging. I was either too distant or too close. I could never win, no matter what I did. She told you her daddy died in high school?”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“Then you probably know I went off the deep end and left Laurel to fend for herself. I’m sure that’s why you’re calling. It’s okay. I deserve whatever you’ve got.”

“I’m not calling to blame you for anything, Mrs. Hargrove.”

“I’m the reason Laurel started down this path. It’s my fault.”

She wasn’t making any sense. “What path?”

“I should’ve stopped her.”

“From what?”

“That thing she used to do…cutting herself up. She blamed herself.”

Jamie’s eyebrows shot up.

Laurel had never said anything about hurting herself. I’d thought we told each other everything.

“I didn’t do a good job when she was a teenager, so I tried to be better when she was in college. But she cut me off for a whole damn year, no contact, and then her friend died, and she reached out, and I tried to be there for her, I really did.” Mrs. Hargrove paused. “The stories Laurel used to tell about her, alwaysClem this, Clem that, like she was a superhero. Used to make me laugh. I tried to make sure Laurel was okay after she passed.”

I found I couldn’t speak.

Mrs. Hargrove’s voice lost its brightness. “I could tell she was getting depressed again. The signs were there. Did you see it, too?”

I cleared my throat. “Laurel and I hadn’t really talked in a while.”

“Well, then you know how she was. Instead of letting me help her, she cut me off again, and that was the last time I heard from her.” Mrs. Hargrove’s voice grew raspy. “I should’ve flown out there, made her see me in person.”

“What if Laurel didn’t kill herself? What if someone hurt her? I really think—”

To my surprise, she laughed. “I used to do that, too. Look for any excuse so I didn’t have to look at myself.”

“But—”

“I’m going to bed now,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “You got my confession, and I’m tired. You remember her, okay? Remember how sweet she was. What a sweet girl, and a sweet friend. A darling daughter. She deserved better.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The line went dead.

We drove in silence, Laurel’s mother’s words filling the car so there wasn’t room for anything else. I stared at the stars the whole way, thinking about what she’d said about her daughter’s bottomless pain. What the dark-haired woman in Tongue-Cut Sparrow had said about a woman who may or may not have been Laurel, doing her best to chase it.