A Very Special Delivery

again.

Chapter Seven
    W ithin the next couple of days, the capricious Oklahoma temperature shot up to a balmy forty-seven degrees and ice melted with the speed of the sunlight beaming down upon it. Chunks fell with thuds from branches and eaves.
    “Are you sure you want to go back to the farm so soon?” Aunt Patsy asked.
    Molly could hardly wait. Every moment in town made her uneasy.
    “The Center’s going to reopen tomorrow. I need a day at home to get things back in shape before returning to work.”
    That much was true. But the whole truth rested in the worry that her sister or mother would drop by to check on Aunt Patsy. They had both already called several times. Once Molly had answered. Her sister’s frosty tone, ordering her to, “Put Aunt Patsy on the phone,” was enough to bring the terrifying tightness into Molly’s throat.
    One wrong word, one suspicious stare could instigate a panic attack. She had moved to the farm in the first place to avoid the townsfolk’s stares and whispers and the inevitable encounters with her sister. The old house was her haven.
    To make matters worse, Ethan had called every day to check on her injury. And she’d struggled long and hard to ignore his not-so-subtle hints that he and Laney drop by for a visit. The need to see him again was strong and troubling.
    She pulled her coat closed and then hugged her aunt’s shoulders. “Thanks for asking Pastor Cliff to drive me out.”
    “He was glad to do it. He misses you. We all do.”
    “I’ll call you when I get there. Don’t worry.”
    Taking care not to fall on any of the many remaining patches of ice, she headed out the door and climbed into the waiting pickup truck. She hadn’t seen her pastor in several months, not since the last time he and his wife had come to the farm, trying
to set up a counseling session between Molly and Chloe. They meant well, but she had already tried everything to repair the rift, only to have her sister scream accusations in her face. She understood that. Accepted it. Nothing could fix the wrong she’d done to Chloe. And the panic attack she’d suffered that day had sealed her decision for good.
    “How ya doin’, Molly?” The young preacher was a blond giant the size of a wrestler but with a gentle nature that was as disarming as it was surprising.
    “Good. Yourself and Karen?”
    “Great.” Beefy hands on the steering wheel, the minister headed the truck down the slushy street. “Karen’s already gearing up for the spring bazaar.”
    “So soon?”
    “Not much else to do until this weather settles. You know how she loves making knickknacks.” His sky-blue eyes slanted in her direction. “You ought to get involved again, Molly. You’re good at that sort of thing, too.”
    Painfully bright sun reflected off the melting ice. Molly squinted at it, heaviness centering in her chest.
    Yes, she was good at crafts and “knickknacks” and loved the creation process so much that she and Chloe had once planned to open a shop together. She also missed the social contact. But Chloe was a mainstay for the women’s group, her prize-winning quilts and crocheted items in much demand.
    “My sister would have a fit.”
    Cliff slowed and turned off the main road. The truck geared down, working harder on the now-muddy country roads.
    “Maybe if you were around every Sunday, Chloe would be forced to adjust, and both of you could get past this stand-off.”
    “I doubt it.” Chloe had made her feelings very clear. Molly was a reminder of all she had lost,
the person whose very existence had caused her grief. If Chloe never saw Molly again, it would be too soon.
    “Did you know she’s been getting counseling?” Pastor Cliff asked. “She and James both.”
    Other than the tidbits her aunt shared, Molly knew little about her sister these days. “I’m glad. I hope it helps. She’s suffered enough.”
    “They’re considering going to a support group that meets down in Mena. A group of people who’ve each lost a child.”
    “That’s good.” Her chest began to hurt. She rubbed the base of her tightening throat, sorry she’d broached the topic in the first place. “Could we talk about something else?”
    Pastor Cliff gave her one of his compassionate looks. “Still having the attacks?”
    “Not in a while.” But she’d come far too close recently to want to take a chance.
    “Ethan Hunter said the two of you rode out the storm together.”
    Molly groaned inwardly. Another