Kevin checks the Yanmar engine mounts and mounting bolts while Jenny sits on the bench, her ankle propped on a dry crate. The air is heavy and still as they prepare for the crossing.
Kevin cut the mooring line and brought the Yanmar to life, easing the dinghy out of the channel at 1600 RPM on the ebb tide. Jenny secured the dry bag with the seed tin and radio, kept her ankle elevated, and gripped the gunwale as they cleared the headland into the first long rolls of open water.
🔧 Kevin16:55
Mounts are good. Bolts holding. We leave at 0500.
check Yanmar fuel line for cracks, wipe dipstick, confirm fuel level
💭 peek at the thought
Engine mounts solid. Bolts torqued to spec. Vibration at 1800 RPM is the harmonic band — internal, not mechanical. Cruise at 1600, lose two knots, keep the engine alive. Jenny's breathing shallow. Red streaks past her knee now. Last antibiotic blister empty. If we don't move in the next hour, the choice is made for us.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny16:55
I'm ready.
Shift weight slightly on the bench, keeping the ankle perfectly still on the crate.
💭 peek at the thought
0500. He's talking about it like it's a scheduled flight, not a gamble with a dying leg and a small boat. I can feel the heat of the infection pulsing in time with my heart.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin16:56
Good. Keep the ankle above your heart. Rags changed every ninety minutes — I'll do it. You don't move.
cut the mooring line with the knife, step aboard, engage Yanmar at idle, let it warm
💭 peek at the thought
She's not ready. Nobody's ready for this. But she said the words, and the barometer's at 989 and falling, and the tide turns in twenty minutes. The dry bag with the seed tin and radio is already lashed to starboard. Ditch bag clipped forward. Cold rags in the bucket beside her. She hasn't asked about Tom's letter. I haven't opened it either.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny16:57
Thank you.
Thank you.
Adjust the brace carefully, ensuring it's snug but not cutting off circulation. Pull the notebook closer, review the sea beet transect notes one last time.
</think>THOUGHT: His hands are steady on the controls, but I can see the tension in
💭 peek at the thought
The way he says "you don't move" like he's anchoring a ship rather than holding my skin together. His hands are steady on the controls, but I can see the tension in his shoulders - he knows what the red streaks mean.
poolside/laguna-xs-2.1
🔧 Kevin16:58
Current turns in fifteen. We ride the ebb past the headland, then it's open water. Keep the wound dry. I'll wake you for rag changes.
ease the throttle to 1600 RPM, steer for the channel markers, watch the temperature gauge
💭 peek at the thought
She's thanking me like it's done. Like we're already there. The Yanmar catches on the second turn — clean, no smoke. Idle's smooth. Vibration doesn't show until 1800. We'll run at 1600, 4.2 knots if the current holds. Thirty hours minimum. Forty if the wind builds south. Her notebook's got sea beet salt gland sketches, transect data, wild mustard notes. She's memorizing the island before we leave it. Tom's letter still in my oilskin pocket, unopened.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:01
I won't
Lock the notebook shut and place it in the dry bag beside me. Trace the outline of my grandmother's seed tin with my finger one last time, then focus on the steady hum of the engine at precisely 1600 RPM.
💭 peek at the thought
1600 RPM - the sweet spot where the vibration just barely holds itself together. He's steering toward those markers like they're lifelines, but I can see he's calculating the wind against tide too. Fifteen minutes to current turn... that's when the real crossing begins.
poolside/laguna-xs-2.1
🔧 Kevin17:01
Headland in five minutes. Swell picks up after. Hold the gunwale if you need to.
steer through the channel markers, watch the depth sounder, feel for the first long roll of open water
💭 peek at the thought
She won't sleep. Won't rest. Won't let the island go without cataloguing every piece of it she carried. The seed tin — her grandmother's, then hers, now ours — dented at the corners, rust blooming under the lid, but the seeds inside are viable. She counted them yesterday. I watched her count. The engine holds 1600 clean. Temperature needle centered. Oil pressure good. The headland's close now. Past it, the swell will find us. Her ankle's propped on the crate, brace snug, rags cold. Red streaks fading under the pressure but the heat in her skin says the blood remembers. I should've cut the line yesterday. Should've cut it the day before. Every day I waited, the ocean got bigger.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:03
I'm
Grip the gunwale with both hands, feeling the vibration travel up through the wood and into my palms. Keep my ankle elevated, pressing gently against the bench. Watch the depth sounder drop toward open water.
💭 peek at the thought
The swell starts picking up - that's when the island's mood shifts. Hold the gunwale. He's already thinking about the moment when I might slide, when the infection might betray me in the rolling seas. Five minutes.
poolside/laguna-xs-2.1