Day 433

Still damp. Need another day on the paper. You want me to check the first aid kit for the metronidazole?

sort through sea beet leaves, spreading them on newspaper to dry

I'll check. Stay off it.

walk to the cottage and retrieve the first aid kit from the shelf, bring it back to the steps

Five metronidazole. Six doxycycline including today's. That's six days oral. But the streaks are past your knee?

open the kit and count the blister packs aloud, laying them on the step

All right, Jenny. Let’s get the dinghy lines ready and the cargo staged. Check the pumps first.

Make <sketch>: “Dock unloading layout” — trace the unloading plan on the notebook, mark where the boat will berth, where the cargo will be moved, and note the positions for the temporary line to secure the dinghy.

Sit. I'll pump. You direct.

Walk to the dinghy, take the pump handle from her hand, and start working it steady—checking the water level in the bilge as I go.

Seen it. Got sail twine in my pocket. I'll serve it after the pump.

Keep pumping steady, one eye on the bilge water dropping, the other on the supply boat's approach—judging its speed, the set of the current against the dock.

Aye. They'll come in hot if they're smart. Or they'll wait for slack. Either way, we're ready.

Finish the last few pump strokes, set the handle down, and pull sail twine from pocket—start serving the stern line chafe point with quick, tight wraps while the bilge runs clear.

They'll hold. Waxed twine, served proper.

Finish the last wrap, knot it off hard with a surgeon's knot, bite the twine end clean, and stand—wiping hands on thighs, eyes on the boat's bow cutting the chop.

Move back from the edge. Now. I'll handle the dinghy.

grab Jenny's upper arm and steer her toward the cottage, then sprint to the dinghy and double the bow and stern lines around the mooring ring and piling, check the Yanmar starts on first pull

Inside, now. I'm bracing the piling — don't come back out.

help Jenny up the two steps into the cottage, shut and bolt the door, then run to the north piling with the crowbar and a greenheart offcut, jam it vertically under the scoured sister plank where the bolts are pulling through, and drive oak

Stay put. I'm running a back-stay to the cottage ring.

sprint to the dinghy, grab the heavy weather line and come-along, run the line from the north piling head through the cottage's south foundation anchor ring, tension it with the come-along until the sister plank seats solid, then cleat it o

Boat's not the priority. You are. Sit. Let me look at that ankle.

walk to the medical supplies shelf, retrieve first aid kit and clean gauze, kneel beside her

I know you can. But let me do it this once. You've earned the rest.

gently take her ankle, pour clean water from the jug over the wound, begin debriding with tweezers while talking low to keep her focused: "Tell me about the sea beet today. What did the salt glands look like under the lens?"

The salt glands reflect the sea’s pulse. As we clean this wound, think of those cells—soft, dense, translucent. Keep the infection from spreading.

apply antiseptic cream to the cleaned wound, bandage the ankle with gauze and a strip of cloth for compression, then ask her to describe the sea‑beet salt glands she observed.

Good science. Now swallow these.

hand her two doxycycline tablets and a tin mug of water, then prop her leg up on a folded blanket on the bench

Five more minutes. Let the wind take the edge off.

stand beside her at the shrine, one hand resting on the stone carved with 'E', the other on the softwood scrap I carved — 'I'm still here' — watching the ridge line where the clouds are banking up dark against the last light

Rain'll be here in twenty. Dock first, then cottage.

push off the stone and start down the ridge at a pace she can match, scanning the dock below through the gathering gloom — checking the mooring ring, the sister plank, the temporary braces wedged under the beam

I'll check the piling braces on the way past. Meet you at the porch.

peel off toward the dock at the trail fork, boots finding the slick boards by feel — testing the north piling's temporary braces with a boot heel, feeling for give in the greenheart sister plank, checking the oak wedges in the mooring ring

I’ll keep the line tight, keep the radio closer. Watch the tide drop.

move to the porch, set the shortwave with the new coax, secure the insulator over the aerial, then quick‑check the radio frequency against Tom's longwave and the emergency shortwave band. If it’s dead, pull the spare on.

Radio's solid. Porch awning's holding. I'll secure the dinghy lines once the worst hits.

finish the last turn on the coax connector, seal it with the last of the self-amalgamating tape, then jog back up the path to the cottage — not running, but not slow — boots slipping on the wet stone steps as the first heavy drops hit the r

Mooring ring's holding. North piling's the worry.

walk to the porch edge and lean out, watching the dinghy surge against the lines, checking the angle of the stern spring and the mooring ring under load

Stern spring's singing. Ring's not moving — yet.

step down off the porch onto the slick stones, crouch at the dock edge where the stern spring leads to the mooring ring, press my palm against the mortise joint feeling for any play as a surge hits