Grace Beneath the Frost

Chapter 3

3

Paul went into work half an hour early. The centre receptionist’s eyes widened when Paul said good morning to her. Michelle greeted him every morning, but he’d never initiated the morning pleasantries.

He glanced around to check the place was still deserted. It was. Good. He took a deep breath. “I saw you at Esther Macdonald’s funeral. Do you often go to client funerals?”

Michelle shook her head. “It was only the second time.” She straightened a pen on her desk. “Esther and I had sort of become friends, you know.”

“She was great at making friends.”

Michelle smiled.

Paul felt his neck heat. “Last week was the first time I’ve attended a patient’s funeral.”

“Oh.” She nodded politely.

She wasn’t saying it, but she was probably shocked to have seen him there. If his colleagues had run a competition, he’d have been voted the least likely to attend such a funeral.

Paul cleared his throat. “There was another one of our patients at the funeral. Rob someone. He stood up and said he used to chat to Esther here.”

Michelle smiled. “Yes, he and Esther used to joke a lot together. They arranged their appointments on the same afternoons.”

“I’d like to get in touch with him.” Paul checked over his shoulder. “I know you can’t get his file for me, but could you give me a clue as to how I could find him?”

Michelle paused and fixed a steely gaze on him. “This isn’t for any nefarious purpose is it?”

He blinked. “Nefarious. That’s quite a word for a Monday morning. Yes, I can promise it isn’t for any nefarious purpose.”

“Ever since I heard that word on a quiz show last month, I’ve been dying to use it.” Michelle tightened her lips to hide a smile. “I can’t give you information off his file, but I think it would be okay to tell you what I overheard.” She glanced around the room. “He’s a science teacher at the local high school. That should be enough for you to find him.”

Paul shifted down a gear as his car approached his street. He’d been debating with himself all day about whether or not he would contact Rob. What was less odd—trying to find his address in the phone book, or sending a letter to the school marked Rob, Science Department?

He switched on his indicator, pointed the remote gate opener, and drove under the apartment block to park the car. He’d write to the school. He didn’t really expect Rob to answer. If Esther truly was in heaven—whatever that meant—she would surely know he’d tried his best. Anyway, he wasn’t sure he believed in heaven. Esther had laughed at images of puffy clouds, long white gowns, and harps, and told him to expect a world more beautiful than the current one.

After he’d eaten, he got out some paper and wrote—

Dear Rob,

My name might be familiar to you, even if we haven’t met. I was Esther Macdonald’s cancer specialist. Like you, I attended her funeral last week.

I don’t make a habit of going to patients’ funerals, but I made an exception for Esther’s. I was interested in what you said about her. You were right. She was real and winsome. I haven’t heard that second word in years, but it described her well. You also said that you were one of her failures and that once you were cancer-free you tried to forget all you’d discussed together.

Paul nibbled the end of his pen and stared at the wall. How could he say this next part without appearing too vulnerable?

The reason I’m writing is that I’m also one of Esther’s failures. She did talk to me about her faith, and I ignored most of it. Actually, I was quite dismissive of the things she believed. Because I was a scientist, I've always thought Christianity is a silly superstition, but Esther didn't see any contradictions between science and believing in Jesus. At her urging I read some of the Bible but I treated it fairly casually.

He wasn’t going to tell Rob how much Esther’s death had shaken him. It was too personal. All too often, he would remember Esther’s glowing face as she talked about Jesus. It had seemed Jesus was more real to her than anyone else around her.

This week, I found the funeral programme on my kitchen bench with my scrawled notes. I, too, feel the way to honour Esther is to take up her challenge to investigate her beliefs.

I know I’ll never get around to it if I try to do this on my own. I don’t want to meet up with a Christian because they’ll try to convert me. I want to be free to ask questions without censoring myself. I want to bounce ideas off another sceptic. The only person I can think of is you.

We don’t know each other, but we both knew Esther and we’re both scientists. Would you be willing to meet with me to discuss Luke? It only has 24 chapters, so it shouldn’t take long. We could come each time with a list of questions and comments.

I know this sounds crazy but what do you think? Are you willing to be part of a two-man sceptics’ club for six weeks?

Paul reread the letter, signed it, and added his home phone number. It would do. Now the ball was in Rob’s court—and Paul wouldn’t be unduly upset if he never heard from him. It would give him an excuse to avoid the task. The question was whether his conscience—or whatever it was that was bothering him—would let him off so easily.