A Very Special Delivery

Molly?
    Taking his Bible, he flipped it open, thumbed through the pages looking for comfort or guidance. Nothing caught his eye. He closed it again, laced his fingers and leaned forward, head down, hands dangling between his knees.
    “I am one messed-up dude, Lord,” he said. “I sure could use some help.”
    Inexplicably, the words Joy comes in the morning, filtered through his head. He frowned in thought. Was that in the Bible? Had he heard it somewhere?
    He didn’t know about joy, but for certain daylight would come in the morning and with it a ten-hour day of driving.
    He stood and stretched his back.
    “Just me and You, Lord,” he murmured. “Just me and You all over again.” And then because he could do nothing else, he went to bed.
    * * *
    Morning came and went, but Ethan didn’t feel a bit of joy. He’d awakened with a headache and a knot in his belly that he hadn’t been able to shake. When his lunch went sour on him, he’d pulled into a quick-stop for antacids and chewed a handful of
the chalky tablets, washing them down with bottled water.
    Molly was on his mind all day, and he’d vacillated between anger, pity and prayer.
    He drove by her workplace, saw her Jeep in the lot, and thought of going inside. He could confront her, make her listen to reason. He loved her. He could make her happy.
    But the voice in his head stopped him. Maybe he couldn’t make any woman happy. Hadn’t he failed miserably with Twila?
    By late afternoon, he wheeled his van down the streets of Winding Stair ahead of schedule. He’d made good time today regardless of his heavy-hearted mood.
    As if on automatic pilot, he turned down Cedar Street toward Miss Patsy’s apartment. A check of his watch said he could stop for a minute. He wasn’t sure what he would say.
    She came to the door, wearing her rosy-cheeked smile and a jogging suit with dirty knees. In one hand she carried a large wooden bird house.
    “Just the man I was wishing for,” she said as he slammed out of the truck and started up the incline.
    His spirits lifted. Molly’s aunt had that effect on just about everybody. “What are you up to, Miss Patsy?”
    “Oh, I was out here puttering around in these flower beds when I saw those red wasps trying to take over my martin house. Thought I’d better clean it out. Now I can’t get it back up on the post.”
    Ethan took the tiny apartment house from her. “How did you get it down?”
    She waved him off. “Don’t ask. Molly would wring my neck if she knew.”
    “I probably would too,” he answered with a grin. A stepladder leaned against the side of the house, the obvious culprit. He took it and started up.
    Patsy stood beneath him, head tilted back. “Yesterday was sure a wonderful Easter, wasn’t it?”
    With his shins balanced against the top of the ladder, Ethan set the birdhouse onto the pole and fastened it down.
    How could he answer her question? Yesterday had been great. And it had been terrible.
    He gave the pole a shake and, satisfied that the house was stable, descended the ladder.
    “Molly had a panic attack last night,” he said without preliminaries.
    The older lady’s face twisted with dismay. “I guess she’d never told you about them?”
    “No. I had known something was wrong as far back as the night of the ice storm, but she never said a word.”
    “She hasn’t had one in a long time.”
    “That’s what she told me.” He rubbed the dust from his hands.
    “Is she all right this morning?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Why not? Didn’t you give her a call?”
    He looked up at the birdhouse, down at the greening grass, and then into Miss Patsy’s wise eyes. Here was a mentor he’d always been able to talk to, even about her own niece.
    “She broke things off. Said she couldn’t take the chance.”
    Behind her wire-framed glasses, Patsy frowned. “Of what?”
    He lifted the ladder and carried it to the front porch. Patsy walked alongside him.
    “That’s what I asked. And her answer was all confused. She’s afraid she’ll hurt Laney. She’s afraid the panic attacks will start again.” He didn’t understand well enough to explain.
    “That’s a bunch of nonsense.”
    He leaned the ladder against the alcove next to Miss Patsy’s gardening tools, waiting for the metallic clatter to subside before he spoke again.
    “I know it. You know it. But Molly doesn’t.”
    “She’s walked a hard, lonely road in the last two years, but since you came along she’s been