I could feel Dale’s eyes on me from down the table.
I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it too. Twenty years of propane bills and stocking caps. Twenty years of Saturdays.
Then, under the table, Dale’s hand found my knee. He squeezed it once.
That was Dale telling me: it’s your family. It’s your call. And whatever you say, I’m standing right behind you.
I looked at Mom.
I looked at Dad, who still hadn’t looked up from his cap.
“Thank you,” I said.
Mom blinked.
“Thank you for asking me to my face,” I said. “You could’ve sent Jeff out here to ask me. You could’ve written it in a letter. But you came yourselves. You sat at my table. And you said it out loud. That took something. I know it did.”
Mom’s mouth opened a little. Then it closed again.
She’d come out here ready for a fight. Or for a yes. She had her whole speech ready for either one.
She didn’t have anything ready for thank you.
“I’ll give you an answer on Saturday,” I said.
Dad finally looked up. His eyes were wet.
“Tammy,” he said.
And then he didn’t say anything else.
They left a few minutes later. I stood at the kitchen window and watched their taillights go down the gravel toward the blacktop until the cedars swallowed them up.
Dale didn’t say a single word until we were in bed.
The wind was coming hard out of the northwest, the way it does in March, rattling the storm windows we hadn’t taken down yet. Dale lay on his back with his hands folded on his chest.
“What are you going to do?” he said.
“I don’t know yet.”
“It’s your folks,” he said. “And it’s your brother. I’m not going to tell you what to do about your own family.”
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at me.
“But it’s my house too, Tam. I put my back into it. I want you to know I’m not giving it up quiet.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you decide, I’m with you. I just want you to know where I stand.”
That’s the most Dale has said in one breath since he proposed.
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.