The Tax Bill I Mailed My Stepson

The bill

The county property tax bill came in the middle of October. In Kentucky the sheriff mails them out in the fall, with a two percent discount if you pay by the first of November.

It came addressed to Keith Lang, because the county had changed the owner of record the day his deed was recorded. The sheriff mails to the property, so it landed in the cabin’s mailbox.

The tax follows the land, and the land was not mine anymore. I had papers recorded at the courthouse that said so.

The total was $4,800. Lakefront on Kentucky Lake is not what it was in 2006.

The county had the lot and the cabin at a little over four hundred thousand dollars, and most of that was the lot. Hank used to joke we were living on top of our retirement.

I sat on the front steps that afternoon in my navy fleece and my jeans, with the bill in my lap.

It was a mid-October afternoon, and the sun was low over the water, and the oaks and hickories along the shore had gone orange.

I wrote a short note on a sheet from the credit union notepad.

“Keith, the property tax on your cabin came. It’s due by the end of the year. Two percent off if you pay by November 1. Love, Kristi.”

I folded the bill and the note together and sealed them in a white envelope.

Deputy watched me from the porch rail with his paws tucked under him. He did not approve or disapprove. He never does.

I had already put the red flag up on the mailbox, so I could not talk myself out of it. I walked the envelope down the gravel drive to the mailbox Hank put up a little off plumb and dropped it inside.

Then I walked back up to the cabin, and I did not look back once.

I was not trying to hurt him. I want that understood. I was not trying to get even.

I was doing exactly what I would do for any member at the credit union. The bill goes to the owner. He was the owner.