Marquee looked down at the melting blue ice cream in his hand and thought about how close the day had come to becoming only a wound. One phone call had turned care into accusation. One pause from an officer had kept accusation from becoming violence. One child's truth had cut through a stranger's fear. One apology, late and imperfect, had opened a door.
He had told Carol that hate would consume her. He still believed that. But love, he had learned, could consume things too. It could consume suspicion, slowly. It could consume shame, if people were brave enough to face it. It could consume an afternoon in a park and turn it into a ministry with more volunteers, more children, and more room at the table.
When Laura came to pick up Caleb and Sophie at sunset, Sophie hugged Marquee around the waist.
"Best day ever," she said.
"Even with grape popsicles?"
"Bubble gum ice cream saved it."
Caleb shook Marquee's hand like he had seen grown men do after church. "Thanks for not getting mad that day."
Marquee looked at him. "I was mad."
"You didn't act like it."
"Sometimes strength is choosing what your anger is allowed to teach."
Caleb considered that. "That's hard."
"Very."
"Will you teach me?"
Marquee placed a hand on his shoulder. "Every day I can."
As the Whitakers walked to their car, Officer Hayes came up beside Marquee and looked over the park.
"Quite a year," he said.
Marquee nodded. "God wastes less than people think."
"You ever wonder what would've happened if I had believed her first?"
Marquee did not answer right away. He watched Sophie climb into her mother's car, watched Caleb buckle his seat belt, watched Laura wave through the windshield.
"Yes," he said finally. "But I try not to live there."
Hayes looked at him. "Where do you live instead?"
Marquee smiled faintly and looked back at the children still playing under the evening sky.
"Wherever they need me to show up next."