Small Acts
The Gate Change

The Last Granola Bar

August 25, 2026 · Part 2 of 10 · 2 min

Callum turned fast, instinct before thought, and found an old man in a cardigan the color of wet sand, a Korea-era pin on his lapel, watching him with an expression too calm for a stranger who'd just called him by rank and name.

"I don't—" Callum started.

"Gideon Voss." The old man stuck out a hand, dry and steady. "Chaplain, retired. Spent thirty-one years reading names off duffel bags in departure lounges just like this one. Yours is stenciled crooked. REEVE, C. Yours?"

"Yeah." Callum shook the hand slower than he meant to. "Callum."

"Missed your flight."

"Gate change."

Gideon made a small, knowing sound, like this was a story he'd heard a thousand times and never stopped being irritated by. "They do that. Storm system's backed up half the connections out of Meadowlark today anyway — rental counters are already stripped bare." He nodded toward a coffee kiosk. "Come on. My flight's delayed too. Least I can do is buy the man who's clearly had a longer day than me a cup of something that isn't jet-bridge water."

Callum almost said no. He didn't have the patience for small talk, not with six hours suddenly yawning open between him and his own front door. But something about the old man's face made refusing feel rude in a way he couldn't name, so he followed him to a plastic table bolted to the floor.

Gideon bought two coffees and, without asking, split his last granola bar in half and slid one piece across. "Eat. You've got the look of a man who hasn't since a hospital tray."

Callum almost laughed. He hadn't, actually — not a real meal, not since the transport out of Landstuhl.

They talked for twenty minutes about nothing that mattered — Gideon's grandson, also Army, stationed somewhere Gideon wasn't allowed to say; Callum's unit, edited down to the parts that were fine to say out loud. It was easy in a way Callum hadn't expected, sitting across from a stranger with nowhere to be.

Then Gideon checked his watch, and something shifted behind his eyes.

"We should get moving before too long," he said, folding the granola wrapper into a neat little square. "Folks'll start gathering by four."

Callum frowned. "Gathering for what?"

Gideon's mouth opened, then closed. He looked, for just a second, like a man who'd said one word too many. "Never you mind that now," he said, standing abruptly. "Let's see about that ride."

Continue the story Part 3: Meadowlark →

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