* * *
I emerge from the Philadelphia International Airport baggage claim area into a humid Friday afternoon. I’ve been living in Miami for so long that I’ve forgotten just how warm and soupy the air is here, even in the early fall.
I unzip my hoodie, toss it over my duffle bag, check the time and realize that I’ve got less than an hour to make it to Grandpa Joe’s house for the meeting that I’ve flown all the way back home for.
Me: I’ve landed.
Aunt Kat: Call me.
I grin to myself. No matter how hard I try to convert her, my aunt doesn’t like or trust text messaging.
“Hello?”
“Paranoid much?”
“People can steal and read your text messages. You know that, Knox.”
My aunt’s paranoia always serves as a source of amusement for me.
“I just wanted you to know that I’ve landed safely.”
“Glad to hear it. I bet you miss the Miami weather already.”
“It’s hot here too.”
“Do you have any idea when you’re coming back?”
“Aunt Kat, I’ve just arrived. I haven’t even talked to Dad yet.”
“But you are definitely coming back, right?”
“I’ll call you after I’ve checked in with him, Auntie.” I rush her off the phone. “My car’s just pulled up.”
“Fine,” she huffs.
The phone goes dead.
While Aunt Kat and I may not be related biologically, she's my family in every way that matters. We both love and respect each other to the utmost degree. Yet right now she isn’t satisfied with my vague answer about my future, but it’s the only one I can give. I’m not sure about anything I’m doing quite yet.
The Uber driver pulls up in an old Burgundy Toyota Camry and drives me out of the city and into the county suburbs in record time. With five minutes to spare, I arrive to the beautifully serene and wooded community that my entire family moved to after I graduated from high school.
My parents are such city dwellers that the move surprised me, but now that I’m older and wiser about life and about the business, I completely understand. Someone once kidnapped my dad in broad daylight when I was just a baby, so their move was probably a long time in the making. It’s best to stay under the radar and out of sight when you make a living in a complicated way.
As I exit the cramped quarters of the vehicle, I'm stretching my arms when I notice that there are two armed guards walking the perimeter of my Grandfather’s estate who quickly approach.
“What’s your business here?” one of them asks abruptly.
It hits me like a kick to the gut that they don’t recognize my face because I haven’t been home in over six years. I left here a boy, defiant, angry, and looking to prove myself, but now I’ve returned a man who’s as different and mature on the inside as I am on the outside.
“This is my Grandfather’s house,” I say with authority. “Who the hell are you?”
The two hired hands give each other a quizzical look, then turn back to me.
“Your name, please?”
“Knox Masterson,” I say, as if I’m the king of this castle.
I slide my arm through the handles of my designer leather duffle and walk past the men toward the front door. I’m not used to waiting for permission to do anything anymore, especially now that I’m on my own family’s fucking property.
