They began arguing.
I leaned against the counter and drank terrible decaf while listening.
Ordinary life moved around me.
Not rehabilitation.
Not a clinical milestone.
Work.
The first customer arrived at eight.
By nine, the yard filled with sound.
A charter company had brought in a thirty-foot aluminum workboat with an intermittent charging fault. The engine started. The alternator tested within range. The batteries were new. Yet the system voltage collapsed whenever the deck winch ran.
Reid stood beside the console reviewing the owner’s notes.
He looked toward me.
“I need another brain.”
Owen glanced over.
“Rude.”
“Yours is occupied.”
Reid handed me the fault log.
I read it once.
Then again because the first pass blurred near the bottom.
“Was the winch added later?”
“Two years ago,” the owner said.
“Same installer as the auxiliary inverter?”
“No.”
I looked toward the stern compartment.
“Battery bank location?”
“Below the aft bench.”
“Cable route?”
The owner shrugged.
Reid smiled faintly.
“He’s going in.”
“I am not crawling into a compartment.”
