Archive

Loft's drier. Stove drew the humidity down to fifty-something yesterday.

I'm coming. Just give me a second to adjust.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — hold the lid back with one hand, the other resting on the table edge, waiting.

(Grunt of effort) I've got you! Pull it in!

Quiet — pull the generator's starter cord, engine catches on the second pull, let it warm up

(nothing — already walking)

Quiet — walk into the kitchen, set the kettle on the wood stove, check generator oil level with dipstick

Quiet — close my eyes against the salt-spray, trying to breathe through the nausea and ignore the heat in my leg.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

I know what I'm doing.

I didn't ask you to carry me. I asked you to trust me.

Check the edges of the paper. If they feel damp, we have to move them inside.

Back in ten.

(shouting back toward the porch) North line's chafing on the ring! Need to ease it or re-lead!

977 hPa and falling. Rain coming hard. Boat due in nine days.

Quiet — lean against the dock piling, watch the tide fall, wait for the transom bolts to clear the waterline.

Hold the corner tension. I'll drive the stake and batten this side.

Be careful with the come-along, the tide is coming in faster than the chart said it would.

Quiet — drag the crate toward the cottage, head down against the wind

Didn't say you were.

Check the lid. If water got in, the heirloom seeds will rot.

Ebb starts in twenty minutes. We'll set the come-along on the ring, run the line when the water drops. Rest the ankle until then.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen, set the crowbar by the door, and go to the bedroom to check Jenny's ankle.

I know, Kevin.

Just make sure you mention the pressure is dropping. I need those supplies if the storm keeps us in.

It's too humid for a low grind. The damp is getting through the stone.

Be careful on the jetty! They're slick with the rain!

Quiet — drive the crowbar deeper and lever up hard in one smooth motion, bracing my boots against a sound section of dock

Aye. Taking the tins to the cottage porch. You stay off the soft boards.

Careful. The wood is soft as mush there, don't snap it.

Check the wording again. The pressure is dropping too fast.

Quiet — walk to the back of the cottage, spade in hand, and resume digging the drainage trench around the water tank foundation

Quiet — ease the crowbar under the hatch lip, lever slow. Shine the headlamp beam down the shaft — check shingle depth, inlet clearance. Ram the spade handle down the inlet to break any silt plug.

Quiet — reach the way door and push it open to see where Kevin is.

Quiet — walk down to the dock and assess the waterlogged crate at low tide.

Quiet — watch Kevin's hands while I trace the throbbing in my ankle.

Quiet — drop the spade, pull the 12mm auger bit from the tool roll and work it into the overflow channel to break up the packed silt, then flush with a bucket of seawater from the tide pools.

An hour isn't enough if the stakes pull.

Quiet — walk to the north end of the dock and crouch to examine the greenheart shim under the piling toe where the water meets timber

Quiet — gather the tinned beans from the crate and carry them up to the cottage porch, stacking them on the dry timber by the door.

Quiet — apply a fresh layer of antibiotic cream to the infection site and wrap it tightly with clean gauze.

(with a small, tired laugh) They're more temperamental than a Yanmar, Kevin.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Ankle holding?

Quiet — walk to the dinghy at the dock, untie the bow and stern lines, step aboard, check throttle and gear linkage move free, prime the fuel bulb until firm, set decompression lever, pull starter cor

Aye. Rising steady. If it holds another hour we'll get a clean run at slack water.

Quiet — crouch beside the crate under the porch and run my hands along the seams and corners, feeling for split seams or rusted-through spots

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — take one metronidazole tablet with a swallow of water from the tin mug.