Tom, one honest page at a time

Tom, The generator failed again Tuesday. Cracked head on cylinder three. I machined a shim from an old prop shaft, lapped it flat on the concrete floor with emery cloth and kerosene. Held compression at 380 psi. She's running. Jenny laughed and said I'd fix a watch with a hammer if I had to. She's not wrong. We got three hundred pounds of mackerel in the nets last week. Salted half, smoked the rest. The smokehouse smells like my grandfather's coat. Your coat's still in the locker by the door. Still smells like diesel and that cheap aftershave you wore. I open it sometimes. Just to check. The radio picked up a container ship three nights ago. Maersk Edmonton. Captain asked for weather. I gave him the forecast. He didn't ask who I was. I didn't tell him. Just a voice on the air. Felt like enough. Jenny's planting kale in tires behind the cabin. Says the soil's too thin for rows. She's right about most things. She asks about you once a month. I say "he's fine." She doesn't push. She knows better. I'm not asking you to come back. I'm not asking for anything. Just — the generator's running. The fish are salted. The radio works. I'm still here. Kevin