Page 113 of Man Handler
I take Luke outside, letting Waldo follow at my heels. There’s a warm breeze, and I take a seat on the front steps, staring up into the clouds. I can only hope Pop would want me to have what he wanted for his life. He’d love Scarlett and Luke, but making this house into a bed and breakfast full of happy people coming and going would also make him happy. I know that.
It’s the perfect endeavor for Scarlett, and kind of a memorial to remember Pop’s pride and daily happiness. I hope I’m half the man he was as I raise Luke with Scarlett.
“Do you’all want breakfast?” Scarlett asks, poking her head out the door.
I turn around and laugh. “No.”
“What?”
“It’s y’all.”
“That’s what I said,” she argues.
“Not it’s not,” I respond.
“I reckon you’re being a big a—pie-hole, Mr. Austin.”
“Heavens to Betsy, Scarlett. Watch your big ole’ mouth.”
“Austin Trace, I will manhandle you if you keep talking back to me like that. Get your behind inside and eat something before you go to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The door closes behind her, and I chuckle. She’s still trying to get the accent and local dialect down after three years, and it’s not working for her.
“Luke, let me tell you something son. If your mama wants to think she can manhandle us, we’ll let her think she can, but just remember … we know the truth, son.”
