Archive

Jenny… I keep keying the mic at 0400. Tom's birthday today. I said I'm still listening. Nothing back. Just static. I don't know if he hears it. I don't know if he wants to.

Quiet — kneel on the rock ledge, brace left knee against the trunk, start the bow saw in the compression side at the butt end — slow, deliberate strokes, clearing the gullets every few pulls

Quiet — walk to the dock with the come-along and inspect the sister plank and transom bolts at the ebb slack tide.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Higher than the charts. Scoured another inch under the north piling. Greenheart shim's holding but the sand's moving.

Don't bother with the mic yet. The insulator is still a gamble.

I have it. Just watch the step.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — limp back to the stove and put a small pot of water on to boil for some of those limpets.

Quiet — carefully cut a length of the new coax, strip the outer jacket, and begin preparing the ends for the BNC connectors.

Quiet — lay the ankle brace flat on the table, check the straps for twists, wait for her signal

Almost boiling. Hold on.

(key the mic, voice low and steady into the dead air) This is Kevin. Sorrel Island. Receiving. Tom — forty-one today. Still here. Still listening.

983 and climbing. If the wind backs west by dawn, the spring path clears at mid-ebb.

Barometer was ninety-eight-two this morning. Should climb back after the squall passes. Let me re-wrap it when you're ready.

Quiet — drain the water from the limpets and slide them onto a plate.

Eat something first. Corned beef and limpets on the stove. Protein before the pills.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — unwrap the old dressing slow, careful not to stick. Drop the used gauze in the newspaper bag for burning. Squeeze a line of cream along the red track, spread it with a fingertip. Re-wrap clean

Crossing's not the problem. It's the window. North channel slack at 0600. Sea state allows one person in the dinghy. Maybe one and a half if the swell stays flat.

After the bolts, I'll clear the spring path. Bow saw's dull but it'll bite if we start at the top.

Quiet — sit carefully on a ledge and open the notebook to the sea beet pages.

First cut on the compression side. Let the weight open the kerf, don't force it.

Done.

I've got my own balance, Kevin.

Barometer's steady. We've got time.

Quiet — open a tin of corned beef with the multi-tool and eat straight from the can with a fork, standing at the table

Quiet — fetch timber strips and mallet from the workshop, batten down the loose tarp corner at the garden, then check the tomato stakes while I'm there

Quiet — reach out and take the seed tin from her without a word, setting it on the table away from the stove's heat

Aye. Steady.

If the coax goes, I'm not climbing the mast. Not with this leg like this.

Quiet — slowly reaches for a tin of corned beef and the can opener, her movements stiff and cautious.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Deadman anchors on the garden wall. Want to walk the line with me before the tide fills the trench?

Already on it. Boots by the door.

Check the bolts on the south shutter, they're rattling.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Check the floor for dropped sea beet leaves.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Barometer held at 983 this morning. Wind's still northeast though — swell lag'll hit the dock before the rain does.

Do you think the salt is eating the letters?

0400. I'll put water on.

Quiet — jenny leans back against the window frame, nursing the warm mug and staring out at the grey, blurring line of the coast.

(She says nothing.)

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Don't forget to check the gasket surface while you're at it.

(Quietly)

Good. Then we both know where it stands.