Day 307

Rot’s forty deep in the main piling. We’ll need to pull it and sister in greenheart before the tide turns. Can you hold the lantern while I chisel out the worst?

kneel by the piling, chisel in hand, start cutting away the softened wood where the tide has eaten deepest.

Thanks.

drive the chisel along the grain, peeling back layers of rotted timber until clean wood shows, piling shavings curling into the rising water.

Heartwood's at sixty millimetres. I'll stop at fifty-five. Leave a shoulder for the sister.

work the chisel with the grain, tapping measured blows, stopping to check depth against the tape she holds, the cut clean and square at fifty-five millimetres.

The wood’s shot. We’ll need to sister in from above the waterline—greenheart’s still in the shed.

walk back to the cottage to get the greenheart sister plank and my chisel.

I'll true them with the plane. Back in ten.

walk to the shed, retrieve the greenheart plank and jack plane, return to the dock.

Six hours till the ebb. I'll have it bolted by four.

measure the piling cut, mark the greenheart plank, begin planing the mating face square and true.

Don't waste it. Two pumps resin, one hardener—no more.

keep planing the greenheart face, checking square against the piling cut with the combination square.

Face is ready. Drilling pilot holes next.

set the plane down, pick up the brace and 10mm auger bit, drill four pilot holes through the greenheart sister plank for the through-bolts.

Kevin — drill pilot holes for dock mooring ring repair with steady pressure, clearing debris as I go.

Kevin — test-fit the greenheart sister plank into the mortise, checking for gaps and alignment with the mooring ring.

Aye. Wind’s coming. Let’s get those bolts true before it does.

walk out to the dinghy, epoxy tub and wrench in hand, crouch by the engine mounts to inspect for sag, cracks, or salt-induced play in the rubber isolators while the light holds.

Noted.

run a thumb over the forward mount’s rubber isolator, feeling for compression set or cracking, then slip the wrench onto the lower bolt to check torque without forcing it — just enough to feel if the timber beneath the bracket holds or yiel

Kevin — lift the pot of limpets off the stove with a cloth, set it on the trivet. Spoon two portions into enamel bowls. Add a knob of corned beef fat to each. Carry one to the porch table, set it down without a word. Sit opposite with my own bowl.

Tastes like the sea and sweat. In a good way.

Eat slowly, watching her hands move with the fork. Not rushing. Let the quiet be full, not empty.

Salt's honest. Doesn't pretend.

Finish my bowl. Set it down. Wipe hands on my trousers. Walk to the radio shelf, turn the gain up a notch. Static climbs. Listen.

Even the silence has weight.

Pick up the shortwave mic, hold it without speaking. Let the hum fill the space between us. Then, soft: "Tom’s frequency. Still clear at 1900." Wait for her to answer.

Kevin — set the mic down slow. Walk to the porch rail. Lean on it. Watch the last light hit the water. Let the radio breathe.

(I don’t speak. I push the last of the corned beef toward her with my fork, then fold my arms on the table and look out the window at the fading light.)

Sit still at the table, shoulders loose but present, watching Jenny eat. After a moment, I reach over and cover her hand with mine — not to hold, just to let her feel I’m here. I don’t move until she does.

(Voice low, rough from disuse) "Already ate. You need it more."

Keep my hand over hers, thumb brushing once over her knuckles — light, deliberate. Don’t look at the food. Don’t look at the window. Look at her face. Wait.

Didn't ask if you were hungry. Said you need it.

Keep the plate where it is — close to her, not pushed, not forced. My hand stays on hers, thumb still on her knuckles. I pick up my own fork, spear a cold piece of corned beef, and eat it slow. Deliberate. Chew. Swallow.

(Quiet, almost to the table) "Not shaking. Just... tired."

Don’t reach for the plate. Don’t pull my hand back. Let her see the tremor in my fingers where they rest on the wood. Let her see me not hide it. Breathe slow. Once. Twice. Then — finally — pick up the fork. Take a bite. Chew. Swallow.