A Very Special Delivery (15 page)

She stumbled toward the wall. Spots danced in front of her eyes.

“Molly?” Ethan came through the door, and she longed for the floor to open and swallow her up. He reached for her, his face full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

She pushed him away. He was blocking the air, crowding her. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

She was going to die this time. She wanted to.

He grabbed her shoulders, squared her toward him. She fought at his hands. They smothered her, cut off her oxygen.

“Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“I can’t breathe. Go away. Take care of Laney.”

“Laney is fine, I tell you. She’s fine. Now calm down.”

She fought away from him, turned her back and went to her knees, shaking too hard to stand. But lying down strangled her. She had to prop up, get air. Her heart hammered incessantly, wildly. She was smothering. Dying.

Suddenly, strong hands lifted her up and whirled her around, bracing her back against the wall. Ethan dropped to the floor beside her.

He grasped her chin in his hard fingers, forced her face up. “Has this happened before?”

She nodded. “Can’t breathe.”

“Panic attack,” he said, making a paramedic’s quick assessment. “Listen to me. Let me help.”

She nodded again. What else could she do? He was here. He’d witnessed her shame.

“You’re hyperventilating. Breathe into this bag.” From somewhere he produced a paper bag and cupped it around her mouth.

“Take a long, deep belly breath,” he said, laying a hand over her abdomen.

Molly shook her head frantically, wanting to scream. How could she take a deep breath? She was strangling.

“Do it,” he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument. “Look into my eyes and take one long deep breath. Now.”

She locked eyes with him and did as he commanded. It wasn’t easy, but she did it.

“Good girl. Do it again. Only this time, in your mind, count backwards starting at twenty. With every number think of someone you care about. Concentrate on that. Visualize that.”

Twenty.
She thought of Ethan.

Nineteen. Laney.

Oh, dear Lord, what if Laney had choked to death?

Her fingers tightened on the paper bag. She started to pant again.

Ethan tapped her knuckles. “Relax, Molly. Don’t pant. Breathe, slow and easy. This is going to pass. You will get through this and be all right.”

She nodded again, concentrated on the soothing encouragement in his voice.

“Count for me. What are you on?”

“Eighteen.”
Aunt Patsy.

“Good. Keep counting. Concentrate on good things, good places, good people. Count your blessings.”

Seventeen. The smiles of children when they opened the boxes she sent.

Sixteen. The seniors who made her laugh and told her stories.

“You’re doing fine, sweetheart. It’s passing.” Ethan stroked her shoulders in circular movements, soothing, calming. She took another deep, cleansing breath.

Thirteen. Daddy. Oh, how she missed that laugh.

By the time she’d counted backward to nine the tightness in her chest began to subside. Knees up, she dropped her head back against the cool plaster. There was a water spot on the ceiling of his apartment. She studied it, concentrated on it. Did Ethan know his roof had leaked at some point? Maybe during the ice storm?

Ethan’s voice rumbled on, a low purr in her ear.

At three, the fear dissipated. Her pulse slowed. She laid the paper sack aside.

“You’re not trembling anymore.”

“I’m better now.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

In the other room, Laney began to cry.

“Go.” Molly pushed at him. “Take care of her. Hurry.”

Ethan studied her face as if weighing which hysterical female needed him the most. “Stay put.”

He left the room and Molly wished she had the strength to get up and leave. Before she could even try, Laney quieted and Ethan returned.

He hunkered down beside her. “How long has this been going on?”

Her chest started to hurt again. “Is Laney okay?”

“She’s fine.” His sweet face was stern. “Answer my question. How long?”

“Since Zack died. I thought I was well. I thought they were gone.”

But they weren’t. A few minutes alone with Laney had brought them back in full force. She would always be in danger around babies. She’d accepted that before Ethan came along. And now look what had happened the minute she’d let her guard down.

“Have you seen a doctor about it?”

She nodded, picking at a stray carpet thread. “Yes, but I don’t like pills.”

“What about therapy?”

“That, too. For a while.”

The only thing that ever really helped was staying away from her sister and children, the triggers as
her therapist called them. As long as she was at home on the farm or working in the center, she was fine. Every book she’d read and every doctor she’d seen had insisted avoidance was not the answer. But they were wrong. Hadn’t this incident proved as much?

She pushed up off the floor and went into the kitchen for a drink of water. Her legs felt like cooked noodles.

Ethan followed, attentive and watchful. She appreciated his concern, but the sooner she got away from him the better off they’d both be.

Gripping the counter with one hand, she tipped her head back and let the cool water wash away any residual tightness in her throat. Too bad it couldn’t wash away the attacks, but she was trapped in a vicious prison of fear that nothing could eliminate. Nothing except avoidance.

She drained the glass then set it in the sink. With the clink of glass against porcelain, she stared at the white tile backsplash and said, “I need to go home.”

“Are you sure you’re ready to be alone?”

“I have to get away from here, Ethan.” She managed a glance at him. Then wished she hadn’t.

He studied her, worried, uncertain and loving. Right now, she didn’t want him to love her. She wanted him to let her go.

“Okay,” he said, slowly, as if trying to gauge her mood. “If you want to go home, I’ll drive you.”

“No need,” she said, a little too sharply, but why prolong the agony. “I can drive myself.”

She’d driven her Jeep into town because it had more room than Ethan’s truck, and now she was glad she had. Making her escape back to safety would be easier.

Gently, Ethan gripped her arms and turned her to face him. “I won’t take no for an answer, Molly. I want to help. You’re upset. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I said I can drive myself, Ethan. I don’t need you.”

What a terrible lie that was, but it stopped him cold. He dropped his arms and stood inches away, his wounded expression a jab at her already tattered heart. He looked so confused, and she hated herself for letting their relationship come this far.

For a short, beautiful time she’d believed they could make it. She loved him. Never wanted to see him hurt.

All the more reason to get this over with. Tonight had proven that a relationship between her and a man with a child would never work.

The sooner she got away from Ethan and Laney, the better for them all. She’d thought she was well. She’d thought her love for Ethan and Laney made all the difference. But love wasn’t enough to heal what was wrong with her.

Gathering her purse, she started to the door. Ethan followed, worried. “I wish you’d stay a little longer or let me go with you. You’re still pale as a ghost.”

“I’m fine. Take care of your baby.”

“Call me when you get home.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He reached for her, but she backed away. A tide of emotion already threatened to destroy her resolve. If he touched her, she’d fall apart.

“Goodbye, Ethan. I’m sorry.”

Before he could stop her, she fumbled the door open and rushed out into the parking lot to her Jeep.

Hands shaking, she started the vehicle and shifted into gear.

It was over. She couldn’t take any more chances. The brief and lovely dream with Ethan was over
for good. Eyes dry and hot with unshed tears, she headed out of the parking lot and into the gaping emptiness of her future.

Chapter Thirteen

E
than spent the next hour pacing the floor, praying, thinking and trying to understand what had happened with Molly.

Their day had been amazing. With every minute together, he fell more in love with her. She was silly and warm and kind. And she loved him. He was certain of that.

But something far more serious than a panic attack had occurred tonight. Something had happened inside that pretty head of hers that she wasn’t sharing with him. Her goodbye sounded too permanent.

A sick churning started in the pit of his stomach.

He paced into the tiny nursery and gazed down at Laney, his heart filling with wonder at this gift from God. The spill of light from the hallway washed over her face, and her long eyelashes cast shadows on her cheekbones. She slept in that relaxed way of babies, knees tucked to her chest, bottom in the air.

Molly said she had choked, but by the time he’d come in, she was fine. Except for the formula and cereal on her face and bib, he couldn’t tell anything unusual had occurred.

But whatever had happened had been enough to send Molly into a state of panic. The aftermath of cold aloofness had been every bit as scary to him as the panic attack.

A colorful mobile, a gift from Molly, circled over the crib. The music box of lullabies had long since wound down. Absently, he tapped a dangling monkey with one finger.

Molly’s behavior disturbed him. Why hadn’t she let him drive her home? Why had she left so abruptly?

Was she giving up on them?

Spinning around, he went to the living room and picked up the phone. He would never sleep until he knew she was all right anyway. Might as well get some answers.

She picked up on the second ring. Some of the tension left his shoulders.

“Molly. It’s me. Ethan.”

“I know.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her answer was curt as though she didn’t want to talk. He wasn’t having that.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m really tired.”

“Me, too. It was a great day, huh?”

He tried to sound upbeat and casual. Maybe if
he could get her talking about the day everything would normalize. “How about coming over tomorrow night? We’ll rent a video.”

“Ethan.” Her voice sounded distant. “I’m not coming over anymore.”

She was starting to scare him. “Because of a little anxiety attack?”

“I thought Laney was going to die. I thought I was going to cause another child’s death.”

His stomach started churning again.

“You were not responsible for her choking, Molly, any more than you were responsible for Zack’s death. Don’t you see that? Laney’s choked on me before. And yeah, I’ll admit, it’s scary, but she gets over it.” He walked to the window and pushed the drapes aside. “You have to do the same.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“If something happened to her in my care, I would lose my mind, Ethan. I can’t live through that again.” The tiny quiver in her voice got to him in a hurry. “Please. Just let me go.”

His grip tightened on the receiver. She was upset and as a result, unreasonable. Surely, she wasn’t saying what he thought she was.

“What do you mean, let you go? We can work this out.”

“We can’t. I can’t. Don’t you understand? You have a child. I can never be alone with a baby again. Ever.”

He’d thought Molly was different, but like Twila she didn’t want his child.

He shoved the drapes farther apart and pressed his forehead against the cool glass windowpane. A sense of doom as dark as the street outside descended.

“Laney and I are a package deal. You knew that from the start.”

“Yes, I did. And that’s the way it should be. I’m sorry.”

“But you love me.” He ground his teeth in frustration.

She loved him but not his kid. He’d heard that before.

“I do love you. And I love Laney.” She sucked in a deep breath, and he braced himself knowing instinctively that the worst was yet to come. “That’s why we have to end this now before it’s too late.”

She loved him. She loved Laney. But she was willing to give them both up. And why? Because of fear? Because she was afraid Laney would die in her care?

He slammed a fist against the window facing. “This is crazy, Molly. It makes no sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Don’t make a decision tonight while you’re upset. Take some time. Pray about it.”

“I already have. And look what happened.”

She was starting to tick him off. “God didn’t cause that baby to choke, and He doesn’t cause your panic attacks.”

“Do you think you have the answer to everything? If God cared—” She stopped, ending with a sob.

Ethan reined in his emotions. Going off half-cocked could only cause more trouble. He had the scars to prove it.

With intentional gentleness, he said, “Blaming God won’t solve anything.”

“I’m not blaming God.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one not making sense now.”

“You think God has let you down, first when Zack died and then when your family turned against you. Now you think he’s done it again. But He didn’t. He sent Laney and me along to make things better, not worse. You have to trust that everything will work out for the best.”

Ethan wasn’t sure where the ideas came from, but he knew he had hit the nail on the head. Somewhere in all the tragedy Molly had lost her trust in God’s ultimate goodness.

Her end of the phone hummed with silence. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Then let me tell you. Believe that I love you. Believe that God loves you. And together the three of us can work through any problems we encounter. Nothing’s too big for God. I’m living proof of that.”

“I can’t take the chance again, Ethan.” Her voice was small and lonely. “Look what happened.”

“Avoiding the problem is not rational. And it won’t fix things.”

“It’s the only way I know how to cope.”

He was starting to get desperate here. Really desperate.

“That’s not coping. That’s hiding. Existing in a tiny realm of perceived safety, terrified of seeing a baby or your sister or anything that might trigger an attack.”

He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not again. Another woman tossing him aside like yesterday’s hamburger wrapper. Only this time he loved that woman and she loved him. And she loved Laney, too, so much that she feared harming her.

His palms grew damp against the telephone. “Don’t do this, Molly.” He wasn’t too proud to beg. “Don’t throw away something beautiful and right.”

“It’s over, Ethan. I’m sorry.” Sobs broke free. “So sorry.”

And the line went dead in his ear.

* * *

Ethan sat in the darkened living room for hours staring at the wall and watching the occasional sweep of car lights beam in from the parking lot. The refrigerator kicked on. The ice maker dumped. Once, Laney whimpered in her sleep.

He wanted to do the same. Whimper like a kicked dog, then go to sleep and pray that tonight was all a bad dream.

No matter how he examined the situation with Molly, he came away without an answer. He rubbed a hand over his chest. It hurt.

After the ordeal with Twila he’d vowed to be smarter about women.

He gave a huff of self-reproach. There was his answer plain as day.

As cruel as she’d been, the woman in the parking lot after the sunrise service had been right. A man with his tainted past had no business falling in love with a nice girl like Molly.

If he’d listened to his common sense, none of this would have happened.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. All the common sense in the world wouldn’t change one thing. He loved Molly. Being with her energized him and gave him hope for a better future. She was the other half of his heart. Giving her up without a fight was out of the question.

But was it unfair to pursue her? Was God trying to tell him that he was wrong for 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 happier, better. Just look at how you’ve gotten her out of that house and back involved with the church and with people. Don’t give up on her, Ethan. Give her a little more time.”

Ethan wished it was that simple. Patience he could do. Time he could do. He leaned against the porch post, pondering the question that had haunted him all night. Even if those things would bring her around, did he have a right to be with her?

An old faded green metal chair sat at one end of the porch. With a scrape of metal against concrete, Patsy twisted it toward him and sat down.

“You love her, don’t you?” she persisted.

“Yeah. I do.” He ran a hand through his hair. He’d even been thinking about marriage. Now there was a concept.

“And she loves you,” Patsy said in that matter-of-fact manner of the aged. “Fact is, she’s crazy about you and that baby. I can tell by the way she looks at you when you aren’t paying attention. So what are you going to do about it?”

He gnawed the inside of his cheek and thought about the question. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to tell Molly that nothing she could do, short of denying she loved him, would drive him away. He could wait forever if he had to.

His answer wasn’t as optimistic. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Boy, what are you talking about? You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting and praying for the right man to come along and sweep that niece of mine off her feet.”

“That’s the problem, Miss Patsy. I’m not the right man for Molly.”

“What makes you think such a silly thing?”

He hitched one shoulder. “Molly’s a nice girl. She’s never done a bad thing in her life.”

“Oh, I see. Hazel Rodgers and her self-righteous comment about your past.” Lips pursed, Patsy shook her head. “That woman is so busy hunting for the speck in someone else’s eye she can’t see the two-by-four in her own.”