Water erupted from three different points along the line before she'd even finished turning the valve. One jet shot straight up like a fountain. Another sprayed sideways across the lettuce beds. The third hit me square in the chest.
I twisted away, water soaking through my shirt. “Turn it off!”
“I'mtrying!” She wrestled with the valve, which apparently stuck going both directions. Water kept spraying.
I lunged for the main shutoff, cranking it closed. The spray died to a trickle, then stopped.
Silence.
I looked down at my soaked shirt, then at Rosie, who had her lips pressed together, fighting a smile.
“I tried to warn you.”
Water dripped from my hair onto my shoulders. My shirt clung to my chest, cold and uncomfortable.
“Well. That's refreshing.” I wiped water off my face, then looked at my soaked shirt again.
Rosie's smile broke free. “I'm so sorry.”
“No you're not.”
“I'm a little sorry.” Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “You should've seen your face.”
“I imagine it looked wet.”
That did it. She doubled over, laughing so hard she had to brace her hands on her knees. The sound was bright and unrestrained, nothing like the guarded reception I'd gotten earlier.
I felt my mouth twitch despite the cold water seeping through my jeans.
“Are you done?”
“Almost.” She straightened, wiping her eyes. “Okay. I'm good.”
I crouched beside the control box again, examining the setup more carefully. The timer itself looked intact. The main line showed stress cracks near the connections, but that wasn't the root cause.
Then I spotted it.
“There.” I pointed at the pressure regulator mounted before the zone valves. The gauge needle sat firmly in the red zone. “Your pressure's way too high.”
Rosie leaned over my shoulder to look. “Is that bad?”
“It's why everything keeps blowing apart.” I pulled out my wrench. “The regulator's supposed to keep pressure steady. It's letting too much through.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Need to adjust it first. See if that helps.” I loosened the adjustment screw, watching the gauge. The needle dropped slowly back toward the green zone.
“Okay.” I stood, surveying the damage. “Pressure's regulated now, but we still need to replace these couplings.” I pointed at the three blown connections. “They're cracked. Won't hold even with proper pressure.”
“I might have some.” Rosie headed toward a small shed tucked in the garden's corner. “Walt kept spare parts in here. Somewhere.”
The shed was packed floor to ceiling with organized chaos—coiled hoses, sprinkler heads, PVC pipes of every diameter, boxes of fittings labeled in Walt's neat handwriting.
“This is impressive.” I pulled out a box markedCouplings - Various.
“Walt never throws anything away.” Rosie grabbed a box of clamps. “Says you never know when you'll need something.”
We carried the supplies back to the broken lines. I started disconnecting the damaged coupling while Rosie sorted through the box, finding the right replacement.