Day 154

Coming.

Wipe hands on trousers, follow Jenny toward the cottage.

Sounds good. I'll check the limpets while the pan heats.

Walk to the tidepools, bucket in hand, to gather a handful of fresh limpets.

Back in ten.

Walk down to the tidepools, bucket in hand, pry limpets off the rocks at the water's edge.

Kevin — carry the bucket of limpets back up to the cottage kitchen.

Morning. Coffee's hot.

Pour two mugs from the pot on the stove, set one on the table beside her notebook. Lean back against the counter, cradling my own.

Wind shift by afternoon. Northeast to east-southeast, twenty-five gusting thirty. Tide turns at fourteen-hundred. We secure the garden tarp and check the dock lines before then.

Set mug down. Pull the notebook closer, thumb the page she's on — my own handwriting from yesterday's walk. Nod once, slow.

Dock lines need doubling on the bow. Stern's held but the ring shifts. I'll splice a new chafe guard from the three-strand while you're at the beds.

Tap the margin sketch — small X at the bow cleat. Push back from the table. Stretch shoulders, roll one out. Head for the porch door.

Inch it is.

Step out onto the porch, pull the coil of new half-inch three-strand from beside the door. Walk down the path toward the dock, boots quiet on damp grass.

Kevin — step onto the dinghy's transom, brace against the dock cleat, and pull the Yanmar's decompression lever. Spin the flywheel by hand to feel for hard spots, then close the lever and hit the starter.

Kevin — let the Yanmar warm at fast idle, hand on the throttle lever. Watch the temp gauge climb. Cast off the bow line, shove the dinghy clear of the dock, and put it in forward gear at low RPM.

Kevin — turn the dinghy in a tight circle at the end of the stern line, come back alongside the dock, and kill the engine with the decompression lever. Secure both lines.

Smells good.

walk into the kitchen, wipe hands on a rag hanging by the stove, pull out the chair and sit down

Kevin — pick up the fork and start eating

Which way?

keep eating, glance at the radio shelf where the barometer sits

Good thing the seedlings are under cloth.

take another bite, chew slowly

The back beds by the woods. They need a trench.

set the fork down, reach for the tin mug of tea she left on the shelf earlier

Aye. Be right back.

walk to each window and secure the storm shutters, checking the latches are tight against the wind

Thanks.

sit at the table and start eating the limpets, chewing slowly

Barometer tells us what we need. Radio check at dusk?

keep eating, watching the window for any change in the rain

I'll pull the coax inside after eat. Dry it out by the stove.

finish the limpets on my plate, then stand and take the empty bowl to the sink

Radio first. Then I'll check the generator oil before bed.

wipe hands on the towel, then go to the porch to retrieve the coiled coax cable and bring it inside near the stove

Kevin — lay the coax in a loose coil on the hearth stones near the stove, turning it so the connectors face up to dry, then sit at the table and wait

Kevin — sit quietly at the table, watching the steam rise from the coax as it warms near the stove

Barometer's at 983 and still dropping. We've got maybe six hours before it hits proper.

Walk to the porch door and check the lashings on the generator and seed tin, pulling each tarp corner tight.

On it. I'll clear the gravel trench before it backs up.

Step out into the wind and rain, pull the collar of my jacket up, and walk to the back of the cottage to dig out the clogged runoff channel with my hands, clearing silt and seaweed so the water can flow away from the foundation.