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Be careful with the stakes, the soil is still loose from yesterday.

I'm sitting. The ankle is screaming.

Checking filter now. Then the dock.

Aye. Got the generator lashed?

Do it.

Already on the list. Timber strips and the mallet are by the porch door. Back in two minutes.

Quiet — limps to the porch, hand pressed against the stone wall for balance, fumbling through the tool bag with numb fingers.

Check the intake for debris too, the tide was acting up last week.

Ate it slow. Chew. Swallow. "Tomorrow's the supply boat window. If they don't answer by 0800, I launch anyway."

Quiet — stir the sea beet pot, then check the radio's signal light again.

Check the water, Kevin. I need the sea beet boiled now.

Coffee's black. No sugar left.

Quiet — stand up slowly, leaning against the doorframe for support.

Easy now. Let's just get to the water.

Copy that. One more call.

Copy. I'll raise the trust on 4075 now. You rest the leg — keep it elevated.

Quiet — i pick up my sketchbook and begin to draw the way the light is hitting the waves.

Careful... the wood is soft there.

Forward spring's tight. Stern's good. Tide's turning — slack in twenty minutes, then it'll push her off the pilings.

Don't touch it. It's too hot.

I haven't even finished the sketches, Kevin.

Don't let them let the seeds get damp.

Quiet — sit on the kitchen chair and open the heirloom seed tin, staring at the damp packets.

Come in before you get completely soaked. The rain is turning.

Barometer says different. I'll check it when I'm done here.

Helicopter's faster. Coast guard out of Falmouth. Four hours flight time if they launch.

"2200's in forty minutes. I'll call. You rest." The mic feels light in my hand, coiled cord stiff with salt. "If they ask for a decision maker — you're conscious, you're competent. They'll want your v

(quietly, to himself) Come on, then. Talk to me.

Quiet — leave the radio on low volume, scanning, and walk to the kitchen to check the water tank level and start something for lunch.

Quiet — walk down the dock to the dinghy, crouch at the waterline to inspect the prop and shaft as the water rises

I saw. Need to get the tomatoes before the rain hits.

Check the seed tin while I'm soaking this.

I'm fine, Kevin. way need to breathe.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — wipe the mud off my hands and head toward the cottage.

Don't overcook them, we need the salt out, not cooked in.

Don't make it too hot. It'll sting the skin.

Is you hearing anything on the frequency, or just the static?

Got limpets boiled from this morning. Corned beef tin. Some of that sea beet left if the salt didn't kill it. What's the call?

Quiet — pull out my notebook and begin a quick, rough sketch of the bird's wing structure.

Quiet — crouch at the transom, wrench in hand, and crack the coupling bolts to check shaft alignment. The bronze sleeve spins true on the trued shaft, but the mast bracket's slight skew still pulls th

Quiet — walk to the porch and check the west-facing shutters, then head down to the dock to inspect the mooring ring tell-tales at high tide.

Checked 'em at first light. Top hinge on the seaward shutter's sprung — gap at the corner. Got tar and oakum in the locker. Do it before the tide turns.

Aye. High slack in twenty minutes.

Quiet — sweep the scattered salt into my palm and pour it into the basin myself, then pick up the kettle and top off the water slow — steam rising, the smell of iron and sea beet thickening the air

Ankle still hot?

Aye. I'll check the porch lines and the garden corners after we eat. You stay off that ankle.

Aye.

Aye. Oak wedges are by the door, mallet in the workshop. I'll get them staged.

Don't call them yet, Kevin. Give me three days for the boat.