I opened my mouth to speak, but Dad gently placed his heavy hand on my forearm.

He did not squeeze or pull me back, but simply rested his warm, dirty hand there just as he used to do when I got overly upset as a young girl at the dinner table.

I closed my mouth silently.

Dad stood up from the porch steps, his old knees cracking in the quiet morning air, and stepped toward the young inspector with his hand extended.

Wayne looked surprised for a second before shaking it respectfully.