January 1, 2020

“It’s about time!”

The winter’s chill brought a shiver to Timothy Edmund as he stood there, hands blocking the dueling glare from the sun and snow, gazing on the property that he'd been tasked with managing. Starting a new job on your birthday was bad enough, but add in the dry mouth and slight headache of a hangover and you've added injury to insult. He took a swig from his bottle of water with a grimace.

It was still shocking to him to find that The Essence House no longer stood on its posh corner in Sands Pointe, New York. Where once stood a large - what can only be called eclectic – manor, had been replaced by a sprawling, high-end strip mall.

He had never been asked his opinion on matters of the house, but that wasn't unusual. Uncle Rick was in charge and the family had distanced themselves from the house over the last couple decades.  Sometime in the 1990’s it was boarded up and left to the elements, until five years ago, when overnight his uncle had a construction crew come through and level it.

Property in the area was incredibly valuable and the old manor was not the least bit productive for the family’s portfolio. It was decided a strip mall would be a better use for the lot, and so that's what it became.

The Essence Corners, as it was called, was seven standard sized shops within an “L-shaped” plaza. The parking lot, stretched out before it, was large as to allow for Maserati and Porsche owners an appropriate amount of space between cars, without the bother of parking a mile from the building.

At the time of Timothy’s arrival, five of the seven lots in the complex were occupied. One mattress store, a mobile technology store, a consignment store, and two trendy upscale clothing stores with a focus on ladies and, in one case, specifically debutantes.

“I said, it’s about time! You the new guy the landlord sent?” said the tall, well-dressed gentleman, across the lot, as he unlocked the doors to his clothing store.

“What's it to you?” replied Tim.

Tim’s not usually so cold. On the contrary, Tim is usually a quite friendly fellow, but the combined woes of hangover and work didn't make him particularly interested in chit chat this morning. His uncle gets really pushy about the family property as the holidays approach, and today was his deadline to get Tim in line as the property manager.

He’d much rather be back in Chicago, where his sister was in labor with what would be his umpteenth niece. He didn't think of them as dismissively as that sounds. His family is just huge, and he shares a LOT of birthdays. He envied people with summer birthdays. January first is so cold, and within a week of the biggest holiday of the year. That hardly gives much to look forward to the rest of the year. Though it had been a long time since Tim looked forward to anything anyways.

So Tim couldn't really care less as he approached the man, but he, at the very least, offered a handshake. The gesture was not returned, leaving an awkward, hanging hand.

“Toilet’s stuck and my clientele does not understand such foolishness as ‘out of order.’ When might I expect it to be fixed?”

“I’ll call it in as soon as I get back to the shed.” Tim responded and turned sharply, walking away to avoid further conversation.

The shed sat behind the strip mall. It wasn’t much. It looked nice enough, as the town would not be pleased with an eyesore, but it wasn’t especially big. As Tim approached it he noticed the door was slightly ajar. He didn’t remember leaving it open. His uncle was rather adamant about keeping it closed, and even insisted that it remain locked whenever possible. Actually, his uncle had many concerns regarding the care of this unassuming structure.

Tim reached for the handle and the door flung open. A guy dressed in a dark hoodie and some jeans sprung through the doorway.

He plowed through Tim, knocking him into the hardened dirt. He glanced back with a terrified look on his face, particularly his eyes. They didn’t match the face they sat upon. They were exhausted and had clearly been mourning.

The figure skidded on the dirt, stumbled a bit, readjusted, and took off across the lawn.

Tim stood up, dusted himself off, and thought to himself, “Do I even care enough to go after him?” He didn’t, but he threw the padlock on the door and did it anyways. 

With a significant head start, the intruder was a good twelve hundred feet ahead of him. There wasn’t much around, so Tim had no idea where he even came from. There wasn’t a getaway car, and if he was a petty thief he’d have been wiser to rob one of the snobby stores in the plaza, than a tool shed.

It became clear, pretty quick, that he was not going to have much luck catching this culprit. He could barely even see the kid anymore. Tim stopped at a tree that lined the perfectly landscaped street, and tried to catch his breath.

It didn’t appear the kid had anything with him, so it wasn't likely he took anything. Maybe this would be a good lesson on the need to lock the door.

As Tim arrived back on the property, he was once again greeted by the well-groomed, tall shop owner that did not shake hands.

“Excuse me, do we have an estimated time of arrival of a plumbing professional?”

“It’s on his schedule. Just hang tight. I’ll get you an update.” Tim replied. Exhausted, Tim headed back to his truck to grab his cell phone and call a plumber.  

He grabbed his phone from underneath a road atlas on the dashboard of his truck. Three missed calls from “Unknown Caller.” Almost certainly not somebody he wanted to deal with today. Debt collectors don’t get to take off the first of the year? He slammed the door, turned, and began walking back to the shed. Just as he neared the small structure, he noticed a leather wallet lying on the ground.

Tim slid his phone back into his pocket and reached down and picked up the wallet. As he started to unfold it to look inside, his phone began to ring.

It was Uncle Rick.

“Yeah Rick, what can I do for you?”

“It’s UNCLE Rick, show us some respect.” Uncle Rick replied, his voice trailing to what basically amounted to a whisper at the end. “I told him.”

Tim stopped to remember how weird Uncle Rick was the last time he saw him. He had always been the spry younger brother of his father, but the last time they met up, he seemed off, and he had taken to walking with a cane. Tim assumed it had something to do with a stroke or physical condition, but on the phone it appeared things had deteriorated; perhaps dementia or something. Who knows, but it did make him as much sad as it did frustrated.

“Earn it first, Rick. What do you want? I’m a little busy here. I’ve got a tenant that can’t flush his toilet and some guy broke into the maintenance shed.”

“What guy?” Uncle Rick asked, voice filled with worry. He continued, whispering to himself, “He found it,” and returning to full volume, “Is everything okay with the shed? Did you…”

“Uncle Rick, don’t worry, I think everything is okay with your precious shed. Hang on, I’ll tell you. I’ve got his wallet.”

Tim opened the wallet and pulled out the drivers license. It revealed a familiar name. Tristan Edmund, born January 1, 1988.

“It was Tristan, Rick. What the hell is your son doing around here?”

“God dammit. I told that kid there was no point in returning.” Rick exclaimed, once again whispering, “I swear I told him” and again raising his voice, “Where’d he go, Tim? Is he still around there?”

Tim leaned up against the shed.

“No. He got away from me and ran off down the street. I didn’t see where he got to.”

“Shit, Tim, that kid is troubled. I’m going to fly out there and tend to him. Can you see about rounding him up in the meantime?  He needs to keep away.” Again Uncle Rick trailed his voice.

“Jesus, Rick, I’ve got enough work to do.  I’m not interested in being your babysitter.”

“It’s family, Tim. I don’t expect that to mean much to you.  You haven’t been involved in a long time. But to some of us that’s all there is.”

Tim knew he was going to regret it, but he headed back toward the truck. “Fine. I’ll find him, but you get out here and handle this.”

Tim hung up his phone and tossed it on the dashboard as he started the vehicle. He pulled down the dirt access road and around the strip mall.

“Damn, Uncle Rick.” Tim thought, “How is the man that squandered so much of what the family had going to talk to me about family?”

The truck turned around the corner and into the parking lot. Tim glanced over, avoiding eye contact with his tenant with the plumbing issues.

“Well, this day has gone to shit.” He paused a moment and chuckled as he turned onto the main road. “Shit, plumbing. Even pissed off, you've still got it, Tim.”

The road is a simple two lane road with trees lining it. There really weren’t many places to go. Had Tim kept running he’d probably have caught up with Tristan. That he stopped was a testament to how much he really cared about his job and getting work done.

He knew Tristan when they were kids. They were babysat on the family property, but much of his early years were a blur and Tim’s recollection of his family was sketchy at best. Besides his immediate family, the only other family member he knew really well was his Grandfather. Maybe Uncle Rick was right, maybe he wasn’t a great family member.

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