October 31—Halloween. When I got home from school, my dad was sitting on deck wearing his heavy parka and reading the newspaper. It was cold and drizzly; he should have been in the cabin. But when I went down below, I understood why he wanted to stay outside. On the navigation table was the bill for the moorage fee. I grabbed it and climbed back up. "You got enough money?" he said.
"Yeah. I got enough."
"And next month?"
"I'll have enough to pay for everything."
"Even food?"
"I think so."
"So you don't need your old man anymore for anything, do you?"
"I'm going to go to the office and pay this," I said, holding up the piece of paper. "I'll see you later."
When I reached the marina office, I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. The fat guy was sitting at a desk in the back. Our eyes caught, but I didn't nod and neither did he. A fiftyish woman stood behind the counter. "Can I help you?" she said.
I pulled the paper out of my back pocket and laid it on the counter. "I'm here to pay the moorage fee. Pier B, slip forty-five. Taylor is the last name. I know we're a month behind, but I'll be paying that soon too." I opened my wallet and counted out two hundred and eighty dollars.
Instead of picking the money up, the woman just stared at it.
"What's wrong?" I said.
She looked up at me. "Oh, sorry. Nothing's wrong. It's just that most people drop a check into the collection box outside the door." She smiled and picked up the bills. "But cash is perfectly OK. I'll write you a receipt and get you your change."
She went into a little glass cubicle. I could see her talking to a man in there. He looked out at me, and then said something to her. A minute later she came out.
"Thanks," I said after she'd counted out twelve dollars and given me a receipt.
Stupid, I thought as I stepped out. The first chance I got, I'd open a checking account. Next month, I'd write a check and drop the fee in the box, like regular people did. I had to be careful. Very careful. I had to make sure nothing I did looked suspicious.