“Draft letter to Tom – ready for tomorrow” in notebook

Draft letter to Tom – ready for tomorrow Deck’s a mess – the rain tank’s full and I’ve been inspecting the dinghy’s hull the whole afternoon. Got the propeller shaft running fine, but the fuel line’s still leaking a few drops. I’ll tighten it tonight before the quiet of the night, so we’re not stuck with a hiccup if the boat finally turns up. Jenny’s in the kitchen, muttering about the garden. It’s a field of weeds and a few stubborn tomatoes that have been dying. I’ve put a bucket of water on the battered little table and blasted the weeds with a hedge trimmer, but it never stops. I’m not a gardener, I’m a diesel engineer. The radio’s still on, catching every little squawk from the coast, and I keep listening for that distant call of a ship, even if it’s not a guarantee. I want to write to Tom tonight. He was right about the old fishing nets being a bad idea – I didn’t think about the weight, and I left the gear in the wrong place. I’m tired of the argument and the silence. I’ll put the letter in his usual locker by the dock. If he opens it, he’ll find a few words from me, a note that he’s not the only one that’s left behind, that we’re both still fighting to keep the boat and the island alive. If he never reads it, I’ll at least know I tried. Still, no one’s going to come in the middle of the night with a boat. The tide’s high, the waves are big, and the weather’s not kind. I’ll keep the radio on a low loop to catch any sign of a vessel. I’ll also keep my hands busy with the rigging, because that’s where I manage the parts and keep the engine alive. The storm that took me to the water for forty minutes still haunts me. I’ll ignore it for now and focus on the present – the dinghy, the garden, the letter. End of note.