The marina office received a letter for berth eight, although no boat had occupied it for years. Amira found the fee account under the name of a woman who lived inland. Every payment arrived on time with the same instruction: do not reassign.
The woman came when Amira telephoned. Her brother had sold his boat before his death, but she had continued paying because the berth number appeared in every letter he sent home. She knew it was wasteful. She also knew where to stand when she wanted to remember him.
The new letter was from the boat's current owner, asking about an old repair recorded in the marina ledger. The sister laughed at the ordinary question. She had expected an answer to something larger, but the boat was still being maintained by people who needed its history.
She released the berth and asked for a copy of the repair entry. That winter, a new vessel arrived. She watched it tie up from the public walkway, holding a photograph of her brother's boat with the berth number written on its back. The place remained available to memory without having to remain empty.