Tom, cross out false starts, try again

Tom, Cross that out. Tom, Cross that out too. Tom — The radio picks up Halifax weather most nights. Static mostly. Sometimes a voice. I keep it running. Jenny's garden produced tomatoes this year. Actual red ones. She made sauce. We ate it with the last of the dried pasta. She sends her regards. She doesn't ask about you. I don't offer. The generator failed last month. Cracked block. I sleeved it with a piece of scrap pipe and epoxy. Held for three weeks. Then the fuel pump went. Spent six days hand-cranking the diesel to charge batteries. My shoulder still clicks. I think about the Bay of Biscay sometimes. Forty minutes. The cold doesn't leave your bones. Neither does the silence after you stop shouting. I should have called that week. Before I shipped out. I was angry and stupid and I let the ship take me instead of picking up the phone. You don't have to reply. You don't have to forgive me. I just needed you to know I'm still here. Still fixing things that break. Your brother, Kevin P.S. The shortwave reaches further at night. 8.297 MHz. If you ever want to talk.