No One But You

as of this moment a banned publication. Good night, kid.”
    “’Night, Mom.” Already he sounded sleepy. She shut the door as Hobart gave a yip in his dreams.
    Alone in the hallway, she trudged down the stairs with the yearbook hugged to her chest. She hadn’t looked at it in ages. Wasn’t sure she really wanted to. She’d had enough of Wyatt for one day. If she opened the pages and flipped through them, seeing the teenagers they’d been, then she’d never forget the sight of him walking away from her today, and the twist of loss she’d felt.
    But what if they’d never broken up? Instead of Jasper’s control issues, she would have had to deal with Wyatt’s instead.
    She padded to the bookcase in the family room, where the photo albums were kept on the bottom shelf. She ignored the dust gathering—there was no time for housework because tomorrow was day two of the diaper drive—and slipped the yearbook into place alongside her other ones. She couldn’t resist pulling out a small blue album—Jake’s baby book—and taking it with her to the couch.
    What a wee thing he’d been, so fragile and amazing. From the moment the nurses had put him in her arms, a well of love had risen within her, stronger than any force she’d known. She traced her fingertip along the button shape of his dear face, and gazed at those baby-blue eyes staring up at the camera Jasper held. That so, so special day had been marred by her husband’s impatience with the caring nurses, his self-importance, his loud, look-at-me voice. He’d been jealous that he wasn’t the center of attention, she realized now.
    Yes, leaving that man was the smartest thing she’d ever done, and one of the hardest. She drank in a last long look at Jake’s innocent, sweet face, and the love within her strengthened, just as it did every time she saw her boy. In the end she’d been able to keep the promise she’d vowed to him when she’d first cradled him against her. To do the very best for him, so he could grow up happy. So he could grow up to be a good man.
    The slam of the neighbors’ door cut through her thoughts. She closed the album and slipped it onto the shelf as the muted sound of voices shattered the peaceful silence of her home. Her stomach tightened. She remembered similar evenings when Jasper had been itching for a fight, jumping all over the tiniest things, perhaps needing a way to vent his self-hatred and self-anger.
    Mariah rose to her feet, listening to the raging male voice. The exterior wall of the house greatly muffled his words, but the tone came through in a low, furious growl that reminded her of Jasper when he’d been working up to an episode. She snatched the cordless phone on her way to the sliding door, flipped on the outside porch lights and snagged a sweater she’d left on the arm of the couch.
    Cold air fanned over her as she stepped into the night. A distant slam of a car door told her she was too late. A pickup engine roared and tires squealed as Roland Lindstrom gunned out of his garage, careening into the street. A woman’s thin sobs sighed on the wind.
    “Lyn? Are you all right?” Mariah padded to the edge of her patio. The downward slope of the lot allowed her to see the shadow of her neighbor sitting on her side doorstep, hands to her face, elbows on her knees.
    Mariah remembered how lonely it felt to be in those shoes. She waited, not wanting to push, but to be the friend Lyn so desperately needed.
    He neighbor drew herself up with a final sniff, wiped her eyes, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. “Oh, I’m fine. Just tired.”
    “It’s been a long day?”
    “Something like that.” Self-conscious, the slender woman gave a strained laugh and stood. “How’s things with your boy?”
    “Fine. Busy.” Mariah let her change the subject, remembering how embarrassing it could be to have curious neighbors witness her marital problems. “Jake had a game tonight. The other team gave them a run for their money. They had to work hard for the victory. Jake made the scoring shot two seconds before the whistle blew.”
    “Sounds like a thrilling game.”
    “It really was. How’s your daughter?”
    “Emily’s doing better in school. She has a new reading teacher and that’s made a lot of difference.”
    “Good. My best friend growing up had dyslexia, too, so I know how challenging it is.” Mariah eased open the gate, stepping into her side yard and across the property line. “I had a