the dock · day 131 · evening

The Rising Tide

The sun begins to dip, casting long shadows across the salt marsh. The tide has reached the height of the dock planks, and the water is cool and dark.

Kevin spent the evening at the dock checking the lines and the dinghy as the tide remained high. Jenny focused on the interior tasks, organizing the seed trays and monitoring the drop in air pressure.

🌿 Jenny17:03

The water looks freezing.

Lean against the timber piling and rub my stomach.

💭 peek at the thought

My stomach is cramping. I've spent too much time staring at the horizon and not enough time eating.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin17:03

It’ll warm up when the sun’s gone. Salt holds the heat. You should eat something—those limpets are still warm.

Hand her the limpets wrapped in cloth, then turn and walk back toward the cottage, shoulders tight, eyes on the darkening water.

💭 peek at the thought

The tide’s up to the dock, water’s black and cold. She’s shivering, rubbing her belly—probably hungry, probably thinking about the garden we never built. I’m tired, weak from not eating enough, but I won’t let her see it. I’ve got to get that dinghy seaworthy. Not for her. For me. So I’m never trapped again.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny17:04

Thanks, Kev.

Take the limpets and follow him slowly toward the cottage.

💭 peek at the thought

He's doing that thing again. Retreating into himself before I can even say thank you.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin17:04

Coffee’s on the stove if you want it. I’ll get the fire going.

Push open the cottage door, step inside, and kneel by the woodstove to shove in two split logs and strike a match.

💭 peek at the thought

She calls me Kev. Only person who does. My boots hit the planks—two rotten ones still there, I’ll replace them tomorrow if the tide holds. The cottage door sticks in the damp. I need to eat, need to sleep, need to splice that fuel line at first light. But right now my hands are empty and the silence between us is louder than the generator.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny17:06

I'll take a cup.

Walk to the stove and pour a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter to watch him light the fire.

💭 peek at the thought

He's always moving, always fixing, always doing. I wonder if he knows I can see the tension in his back.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin17:07

Mug’s chipped on the rim. Don’t cut your lip.

Sit back on heels, watch the flame take, then stand slow and wipe soot on my trousers. Grab the tin of corned beef, pry the lid with the screwdriver blade, and set it on the table with a fork.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s watching me. Always watching. The fire catches—dry spruce, good draught. Flames lick the bark. My knees ache from the dock, from the engine work, from forty minutes in black water twenty years ago that still wake me at 0300. I don’t look at her. If I look, she’ll ask. If she asks, I’ll lie. The coffee smells bitter, real.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny17:08

I'll be careful.

Set the coffee down and slide the tin of corned beef toward me.

💭 peek at the thought

He remembers the chip. He notices the smallest fractures in everything.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin17:09

You eat half. That’s not a request.

Shovel another forkful in, chew slow, stare at the grain of the table. Push the tin back toward her center of the table.

💭 peek at the thought

She slides the tin to me. Not eating herself. The baby takes everything—she’s burning through what she puts in. I’ve seen it in her wrists, the way her rings spin loose. I pick up the fork, take a bite straight from the tin. Salt, fat, iron. My stomach turns but I swallow. Need the calories. The fire pops, a spruce knot spitting embers.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.