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Just as soon as his Thanksgiving duties were over, he was heading to Tulsa. The Mayo Hotel had a rooftop bar. He’d get a room, a few drinks, meet a hot woman looking for a good time. With luck, they’d share fun and breakfast. Time to act like the eligible bachelor he was.
At dinner, his seven-year-old niece Bonnie turned to him and said, “Uncle Wyatt?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He helped himself to seconds of green bean casserole.
“Could you please cut my meat?” She held up a thick slice of turkey and waved it.
“Just eat it like that.”
“I can’t.” She dredged her free fingers through gravy, then licked them like lollipops. “It’s bad manners.”
“And what you’re doing isn’t?” he asked.
Betsy, her twin, who sat on his other side, said, “She likes eating her gravy like that. Me, too.”
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