Whole Pieces by Ronie Kendig Page B

parents.”
    â€œBut they hit us. Knew where we were!”
    â€œThat is because of your genius—the gifts you bestowed on Abda.”
    â€œThe gifts—”
    â€œYes, the patch, the necklace, the MP3 player . . . the effects were unavoidably wretched!”
    â€œWhat effects?”
    Constant sat up straight. “It’s like this—no, you couldn’t change things. Not on the grand scale you wanted to. Rarely can that truly be accomplished. But the minute things made the grand difference. Time gifted to you, gifted to the boy, ended up gifted to your team. Don’t you see?”
    â€œWas that supposed to make sense?”
    Lips flattened, Constant worked his jaw muscle. “It’s quite simple, really.”
    After so many years, Hawk had missed the oh-so-proper accent and the banter. “Please enlighten me.”
    â€œYou and the men on your team gave Abda gifts, yes?”
    Hawk nodded. “I thought it was better to be friends than to be threatening.” He shrugged. “A small change.”
    â€œExactly! But giving him those gifts cost time .”
    â€œOkay.” Hawk could buy that. Made sense. “Sure.”
    â€œWhich caused the boy to return to his home later. That lapse of time allowed him to see the fighters.”
    â€œFighters?”
    â€œThey were there to slaughter his family—and they did that before you went back. In the original time strain, Abda died that night with his sisters, mother, and father. Thanks to your gift of time, he lived. Saw the men and went screaming to his father.”
    Floored by the words spoken, the life he’d altered, Hawk shook his head. “I thought—”
    â€œYes, well, we have deduced that thinking’s not your strong suit. Stick to fighting.”
    Hawk smiled. “Agreed.”
    â€œBut that’s not the end of it, Haytham. You see, then the colonel knew Abda had been with Americans because the poor child dropped his treasure box in his haste to get to safety.” Clucking his teeth, Constant shook his head. “That’s why your men faced the fighters again.”
    â€œBut how had they found us the first time?”
    â€œAbda’s fear of you after your brutal warning the first time shone all over his face—that, along with his fear for you. His parents demanded that he tell them what was wrong.”
    â€œHe told them.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    Blown away by the repercussions, the difference one act of friendship had on the team, on a little boy’s life . . . Losing his legs was a small a price to pay to relive his life the right way. Things were good. Stratham was alive.
    A form filled the doorway. “Ah, look!” Constant said. “Your old war buddy.”
    â€œOld codger got ugly. What’s Stratham doing here anyway? I haven’t seen him in twenty years or so.”
    â€œWord of your failing health has spread. It was on the news.”
    Surprise tugged at Hawk. “How? Why?”
    Constant frowned at him. “You still don’t know . . .”
    â€œKnow what?”
    Snapping his gaze down, Constant hesitated. “Well, friend, you’ll soon find out.” He donned a top hat, checked his watch, then gave a curt bow. “I bid you adieu, Haytham. A life well lived is worth honoring.”
    Though on the three occasions Hawk had seen “Mr. D.,” seeing him now, hovering in the hall beyond his room, gave him no cause for concern. Because that wasn’t his ticket out of this world. He knew it wasn’t. He’d lived a good, full life, but he’d also surrendered his anger, his fears, a future unknown to One who could handle it.
    In the corner, as his grandchildren drifted in and out of view—man, he’d done good, hadn’t he?—Hawk gave a nod to Constant.
    â€œHawk?” Ashley’s creaking but soft voice caressed his lessening heart.
    Returned to his