We lugged the groceries across the parking lot, down the ramp, and onto the sailboat. Below deck, we unpacked and stored all the cans of food. I slid open the front panel of the storage nook where I kept my running clothes. "I'm going to run now."
"Take a day off, Chance," he said. "How about if you and me eat a normal meal for once? I could cook some soup. This bread is actually fresh."
"I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?"
"I just can't. Besides, I'm not hungry."
The drizzle had turned to rain and the sky was a gloomy gray. I opened the locker in the utility room, slung the backpack over my shoulders, and stepped outside. If I ran all the way out to the locks, it would be dark by the time I returned to the beach. So instead of running my normal route, I headed straight out to the beach.
By the time I reached the big tree, twilight was giving way to night. I stretched, looking as carefully as I could into the shadows of the rocks. Nothing—but it was too dark to really see. I turned and checked the beach in both directions. No one. I stopped pretending I was stretching, and instead reached into the openings in the rocks to feel around for a package. Still nothing. If only I'd brought a flashlight.
I ran back along the beach, showered as usual, and then returned to the boat. My dad was gone; an unopened can of soup and a clean bowl sat on the small table.
That night I lay awake thinking. I saw myself back on the beach feeling around the rocks with my hands, only now I'd find something, something I'd missed. The sensation was so strong I almost dressed and returned to the beach to look again.
Friday morning, as I crossed the marina parking lot on my way to school, the fat guy hopped out of a silver Acura I hadn't noticed. He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me to a fenced area full of garbage dumpsters and recycling bins. "I ran yesterday," I said straight away. "I swear I did. There was nothing there."
"How come I didn't see you, then?"
"I had to help my dad when I got home from school," I said. "Since I was late, I took a shortcut. It was almost dark, but I checked. I swear to God there was nothing there."
"It was there, all right. It's still there. You missed it."
"I'll go right now," I said, and I started toward the beach.
He grabbed me and pulled me back. "You'll go at the regular time." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small card. He wrote something on the back of it and then handed it to me. "You call that number if you are ever going to miss a pickup."
"Who do I ask for?"
"You don't ask for anybody. It's an answering machine. At the beep, you leave a message—'Chance is out of the race today.' You understand?"
"Yeah," I said. "I understand."
"There's money in this for both of us. Don't blow it."
The package was the size of a loaf of bread. It was wedged between two rocks; the day before, my hands must have gone just under it. I dislodged it, and then shoved it into my backpack. When I turned around, a little beagle was running toward me, his nose on the ground. A woman about thirty was twenty feet behind him. The dog started barking at me. "That dog should be on a leash," I shouted.
"I'm sorry," she said. Then she started calling her dog. "Come here, Flip. Come on, boy."
I kept a steady pace on the run back to the pier, the package thumping against my back. It was awkward, but I didn't care. I had my job.
There was another package hidden in the rocks Saturday. On Sunday afternoon in the front pouch of the backpack I found a sealed envelope. Inside were four fifty-dollar bills.