Day 495

"I’ll check the mast bracket again. See if it’s shifted under load." (I stand, wipe my hands on my trousers, and move toward the dinghy’s mast step.)

walk to the dinghy mast bracket, crouch, and inspect the through-bolts and doubler plate for movement or settling.

"Aye. I’ll true the shaft first, then recheck the bracket." (I keep my voice low, not looking at her.)

grab the bronze drift and a wrench, then manually rotate the propeller shaft by hand while watching for wobble at the coupling and stern tube, feeling for bind or uneven resistance.

"It’s not bent. There’s resistance at one point — could be the sleeve seating, or the bracket’s torqued uneven." (I stop turning the shaft, wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist.)

loosen the four 10mm stainless through-bolts on the mast bracket just enough to allow play, then use a pry bar to gently shift the bracket laterally while watching the shaft alignment at the coupling, seeking free and true rotation.

"Salt’s worked in. I’ll pull the engine back, clean the seat, and reseat it dry." (I keep my eyes on the shaft, not on her leg. I know what she’s not saying.)

support the engine’s weight with a jack under the flywheel housing, then remove the four through-bolts from the mast bracket and doubler plate, allowing the engine to lower slightly so I can inspect the mating surfaces between the mast step

I'll get the limpets from the tide pools while you boil. Fresh ones for the broth and the poultice.

walk to the tide pools, scan the rocks for large limpets, use the knife to pry them loose, place them in the bucket, return to the cottage with the bucket of fresh limpets.

I'll be quick. Just grabbing the biggest ones from the lower pools—less current, easier to hold.

move carefully across the wet rocks, avoid the black algae patches, use the knife to twist and lift four large limpets into the bucket, check for any cracks in the shells, turn and walk back toward the cottage, bucket steady in hand.

Salt's in the tin by the stove. I'll grab it on my way back.

enter the cottage, step past Jenny without breaking her focus, pick up the salt tin from the stove shelf, turn and head back out the door toward the tide pools, bucket in one hand, salt tin in the other.

Almost back. Just rounding the bend—keep the bowl steady, I'll be there in a minute.

hurry along the rocky shore, avoid loose stones, scan for the largest limpets clinging to the vertical faces, use the knife to dislodge three more quickly, drop them into the bucket, turn and sprint the last stretch toward the cottage, buck

Aye. I'll sit. Just tell me when it's had enough.

sit on the stool by the stove, bucket of fresh limpets between my feet, start scrubbing shells with the stiff brush, rinsing each in the seawater bucket before setting aside to steam open.

I'm focusing. Shells are coming clean. Tell me what you see.

continue scrubbing limpets, set aside a dozen clean ones in the colander, start rinsing the next batch under the tap from the rain tank, keeping my back to Jenny so I don't flinch at what she might see.

Take your time. I'll have these ready to steam when you're done.

finish rinsing the limpets, place them in the pot with a splash of seawater and a sprig of mint, set the pot on the stove to simmer, then turn and watch the steam rise, keeping my eyes on the pot, not on Jenny's hands.

Alright. I’ll wait. Just point when you’re ready.

Stand by the dinghy’s transom, one hand on the gunwale, watching Jenny approach. Keep the throttle closed, ignition off. Let the engine cool if it’s not already. Observe the mast bracket alignment as she nears.

You’re right. Let’s wait till late afternoon. Shore breeze’ll pick up then. In the meantime—hand me one of those limpets. I’ll crack it open right here.

Reach for the bowl, take one limpet, use the edge of my pocket knife to twist it free from the shell. Hold it out to her, then eat mine slowly, watching the tide pull back from the pilings. Stay quiet. Let her rest.

Yeah, they’re tight. Give ’em a good chew—gets the jaw working. (Pause) Those planks near the mooring—you see how they’re cupping? I’ll swap ‘em out tomorrow morning. First light, before the heat.

Finish my limpet, wipe my mouth on my sleeve. Keep one eye on the jetty, the other on Jenny’s face—see if she’s in pain or just tired. Wait for her to signal when she’s ready to move. Stay still. Let the silence stretch.

No rush. We’ve got time. (Softly) The tide’s turning. Soon it’ll be slack, then ebb. Good time to walk the shore after.

Lean my shoulder lightly against the piling beside hers—not touching her, just sharing the support. Watch the waterline creep down the wood. Let my breath slow. Stay until she shifts first. No words unless she speaks. Just be here.

Yeah. Slack’s coming. Should be in twenty minutes. We can walk to the spring then—cool shade, still water. Good for soaking.

Push off the piling just enough to stand upright, but don’t move away. Keep my stance open, ready to support if she stumbles. Eyes on the seagull, then follow its arc to the masthead—check the stays, the insulator, the aerial wire.

I'll get them on the plate. Just need to drain the water first.

walk to the cottage, take the bowl from Jenny, pour off the hot water into the sink, then carry the limpets to the table and spread them out on a clean plate.

Yeah. Salt's right here.

pick up the salt tin from the stove, walk to the table, and sprinkle a generous pinch over the limpets on the plate, then hand the tin back to Jenny and step back to give her space.

You want me to get the poultice fresh? Or just leave you be?

stay where I am, hands loose at my sides, eyes on Jenny as she rubs her ankle, waiting for her answer.

Limpets are done. Sea beet’s tender. Let’s eat before it gets cold.

ladle limpet broth and sea beet into two tin mugs, hand one to Jenny, sit beside her on the cottage step, shoulder almost touching but not quite.

Tide’s turning. Should be slack in twenty minutes. Good time to check the mooring ring again — see if those oak wedges are still holding.

take a slow sip of broth, set the mug down, stand, and walk toward the dock, leaving the cottage door ajar behind me.