the keeper's cottage · day 501 · evening

Evening meal prep

The rain tapers to a drizzle as the light fades. You and Jenny sit at the small table to discuss the supply boat arrival in three days.

The humid air sits like a weight over the cottage, smelling of salt and rotting vegetation. The tide is receding, exposing the slick, dark ribs of the northside rocks. Inside, the drip-drip of the leaking shutter is the only clock in the heavy silence, while the scratching of a rat behind the pantry shelves echoes through the floorboards.

🔧 Kevin12:42

Boat’s due in three. We should get the dock ready tonight — while the light’s still there. Mooring ring needs more than wedges. I’ll pull the old planks from the shed, sister the piling with greenheart. You rest that ankle.

walk to the shed, pull out two greenheart planks and the mallet, head back to the dock.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s quiet again, watching the steam rise from her mug. I can see the tension in her jaw — not from pain, from waiting. Three days. The boat might not come. We’ve got food, water, fuel. But the mooring ring still worries me. If it fails when they try to tie off, we lose the chance to unload. And I haven’t told her about Tom’s letter. Not yet.

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

🌿 Jenny12:43

Don't overexert yourself, Kevin. The tide isn't going anywhere until the morning.

Lean back against the stone wall, rubbing the hot skin of my ankle while I watch him disappear into the grey mist.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks a few planks will fix years of neglect; the wood is rotting from the inside out just like my skin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:44

(from the mist, voice low) I’m not overexerting. Just need to feel useful. Be back before dark.

reach the dock, lay the greenheart planks alongside the rotted piling, start chiseling out the damaged wood with the bolt from the oarlock bracket as a makeshift chisel.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s worried. Not just about me — about the silence between us, the things we don’t say. The ankle’s burning under her hand, but she’s not complaining. She’s watching me go, like she’s memorizing my back. I hate that she sees the strain in me and thinks it’s only about the work. It’s not. It’s the letter. It’s Tom. It’s the Bay of Biscay in my chest every time I go near the water.

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

🌿 Jenny12:45

Just watch your step, the rocks are slick with the algae.

Reach for the basin of salt water and the clean gauze, preparing to debride the infection before the light fails completely.

💭 peek at the thought

Useful. He thinks working wood is a cure for the silence, but the island just eats us whole.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:46

(without looking up) I’ll keep to the planks. Shout if you need me.

continue chiseling the rot from the piling, exposing solid timber beneath, then fit the first greenheart sister plank against it, marking where the bolts will go.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s tending to herself now — practical, quiet. Doesn’t wait for me. That’s Jenny. Always has been. The algae’s thick on the rocks; I’ll need to move slow, keep my weight on the balls of my feet. One slip and I’m in the drink, and this time there’s no forty minutes to survive it. Not with her waiting back at the cottage, ankle on fire, needing me whole.

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

🌿 Jenny12:47

I'll be right here. The light is getting too poor anyway.

Dip the gauze into the warm salt water, wincing as the sting hits the angry edge of the infection.

💭 peek at the thought

If he cuts a finger, I don't have the steady hands to fix him up with this leg.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:48

(steady, focused) Almost got the first seat cleaned out. Second plank’ll go on top, scarf joint like the transom repair. Should take the load.

drill pilot holes through the greenheart and into the sound piling, then drive the first two stainless through-bolts by hand, snugging them down with the wrench.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s staying put. Good. Let her work the salt in, let it draw out the poison. I can hear her breath catch — not loud, but there. She’s tougher than she lets on. The piling’s eaten through halfway; the greenheart’ll need to span the gap, bolted through both old and new. I’ve got the drill bit from the workshop, the stainless bolts from the mast bracket salvage. This’ll hold. It has to.

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

🌿 Jenny12:49

Don't over-tighten them yet, the wood might still swell in the rain.

Press the damp gauze to the wound, holding my breath as I start to wipe away the yellow tissue.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right about the scarf joint; the wood needs the surface area to hold against the tide.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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