The Scalpel of God.

Hmm.

“Yes,” she told Calvin. “I believe that truth is a scalpel as well.”

“I’m relieved that you two have based your relationship on such a blade.” As he spoke, he winced, and it was clear that he was in a lot of pain. “It’s been my experience over these many years that without truth at the nexus of a relationship, it stands little chance of weathering the storms of life that will inevitably come its way.”

At that, she was quiet.

It was almost like he could read her inner struggle and that his words were laser-focused on her current situation and her dilemma of whether or not to be honest and tell her husband the truth about her cancer.

And about your faith struggles.

About your questions.

About your doubts.

You haven’t told Pat anything about those either.

“Is it always best to tell the truth?” she asked Calvin. “Or is it better, at times, to keep it from someone for their well-being?”

“I would say, my dear, that truth is always a gift, no matter how hard it is to hear or to bear. To obfuscate it is to judge that something is greater than knowing the truth, and I can’t think of any instance where that might be the case.”

“Now you sound like Pat,” she said.

A tiny smile. “He does have a few redeeming qualities.”

++++

DeYoung and Senator Murray showed up at my office.

“You remember Agent Bowers?” DeYoung said by way of introduction.

“Yes.” Senator Murray nodded. “Of course. Agent Bowers, how is your progress coming on the case?”

“Moving forward.”

“If anyone can get the answers for you, it’s Patrick,” DeYoung told him confidently.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

With that, DeYoung left us alone, and I said, “Senator, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Certainly. But may I ask you one first?”

“Yes, of course.”

He peered down the hall earnestly. “Is there a place in this building that serves coffee? I’ve been on the move since I woke up and haven’t had a chance to grab my morning cup.”

If we were talking coffee that was drinkable, the cafeteria was out of the question.

“There’s a kitchen down the hall. I can’t guarantee that the coffee there will be fresh, but one of the agents here keeps a stash of organic, shade-grown whole beans in the freezer. We can grind our way to a good cup if we need to.”

“Sounds like my kind of agent,” he said.

I couldn’t tell if he had guessed that I was that agent or not. “Mine too,” I told him.

++++

Tessa tugged her coat up over her head to keep the freezing rain at least sort of at bay.