Ground Fault
A wiring failure, a short temper, and the moment Charlotte learns who she is really with.
Previously on Between Corners: A party, a waltz, and a morning that made everything plain.
I was in the kitchen putting away dishes when I saw Doug walk across the yard to the mailbox.
He opened it. Took out the mail. Shuffled through it. Then he put it all back in the box and closed the door.
Gently. Almost carefully.
Then he walked slowly back to the Airstream and disappeared inside.
I dried my hands on a towel and watched.
Ten minutes went by.
No movement from the trailer.
We were supposed to leave for Big Bend in four days. This was my trip, really. I’d wanted to go for years and talked Douglas into taking me. He had left the planning to me, which was fine. He could be scattered – usually because he had too many things on his mind.
Douglas’s job was to get the trailer ready.
Doug had been getting the trailer ready all week. Some lighting upgrades, a new solar port, a new toilet that was low enough for me (he admitted the one he had originally installed was too tall for him, too).
At least, he had been trying to get things ready. But something was off. He’d been snapping at me. Barely sleeping. Yesterday he kicked the shed door because it stuck. Broke a hinge on it.
I walked out to check on him.
I found him on his knees at the front of the trailer. The dinette table was dismounted and shoved aside. Wires everywhere. Tools scattered across the plywood floor. His head was half into the plywood compartment that held the batteries and the power converter.
I noticed most of the lights were out.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He didn’t look up.
I stepped closer. “Douglas.”
“Half the trailer has no lights. Ground fault somewhere. Can’t find it.”
His voice was tight.
“What about the negative bus?” I asked. “Could the ground…”
“No.”
The word came out with a bite.
I stopped.
He was still staring into the battery compartment, shoulders tense.
“I don’t need help,” he said without looking at me.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll go check the camping crates in the shed.”
I walked back outside.
I was sorting through plastic bins when I heard him yell.
“CHARLOTTE!”
I dropped what I was holding and ran back to the Airstream.
He was still on his knees. Red-faced.
“Where did you go?” he snapped. “I needed help.”
I blinked. “Douglas... you told me to leave.”
“Well obviously this takes more than two hands.”
I looked at him. At the wires. At his hands, which were shaking slightly.
“What do you need?” I asked carefully.
“Hold this.” He handed me a wire crimper.
I took it.
He reached into the battery compartment. Tried to gather loose wires. A thin copper strand slipped under his thumbnail.
“Ouch! Crap!”
He stood up fast. Hit his head on the overhead storage locker.
“GOD…DAMN…IT!” he barked.
Then he kicked the plywood battery enclosure.
The sound echoed through the aluminum shell.
I didn’t move.
“Douglas,” I said finally. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just frustrated.”
I set down the crimper. “It’s not the wiring.”
He looked at me.
“You’ve been like this for days,” I said. “ Snapping at me. Awake all night. You told me to leave ten minutes ago, then yelled at me to come back.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he sat down on the dinette bench.
A long moment.
“I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I stopped taking my meds.”
I went still. “What meds?”
“Lexapro. It’s an antidepressant.”
So that’s what this was.
“When did you stop?” I asked.
“Three weeks ago. Maybe four.”
I sat down across from him.
“Why?”
He looked at his hands. They were still shaking.
“I felt good. I thought... I don’t know. I thought maybe I didn’t need them anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because I felt OK. I felt that maybe you and I…”
I waited.
“You and I were go together. That maybe I didn’t the pills any more.”
I leaned back slightly. Processing.
“How long have you been taking them?”
“Six years. Since my brother died.”
Richard. Three years older. I knew Douglas missed him even now. Richard was calmer than Doug. More emotional intelligence, or whatever the term is now.
“Did they help?’
“A lot. I stopped dwelling on the past so much. Getting so angry.”
And he had stopped. Cold turkey. Maybe tapering would have been OK. Instead he lit a brushfire in his nervous system.
We sat there for a minute. The Airstream creaked in the afternoon heat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Before. That you were on them.”
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant. I was managing it. It was just part of my routine.”
“And stopping?”
“I thought I was doing better. I’ve probably been depressed my whole life, and now I wasn’t.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Yeah. I’m figuring that out.”
I stood. Walked to the small sink. Filled a glass with water and brought it back to him.
“Drink this.”
He did.
“Have you eaten today?”
He thought about it. “Not really.”
“Okay. Come inside. I’ll make you something.”
“I need to fix the wiring.”
“The wiring can wait.”
“Charlotte…”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Douglas. The wiring can wait.”
He looked up at me.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired.
“Okay,” he said.
I made toasted cheese sandwiches, and scattered some potato chops and apples slices on the plates. He sat at the kitchen table and watched.
“I’m not good at this,” he said.
“At what?”
“Talking about this kind of stuff.”
I set a plate in front of him. “I noticed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. Just talk to me next time before you make a big decision like that.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I sat down across from him with my own plate.
“So,” I said. “What else should I know? What to expect over the next few days.”
He thought about it. “I’m back on them. Started two days ago. The worst of the symptoms pass pretty quickly, but it takes a few weeks for them to really kick in.”
“Okay.”
“And I might have trouble sleeping. Or sleep too much.”
“Alright.”
“And I’m sorry in advance if I’m difficult.”
I looked at him. “You’re always difficult.”
A small smile. “Fair point.”
I nodded slowly. “So we take it easy in Big Bend. Shorter hikes. More rest days.”
“You don’t have to…”
“We’re going,” I said. “I want to go – with you. We can adjust. That’s all.”
He looked at me. “You sure?”
“Yes..”
He exhaled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making this a bigger deal than it is.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Douglas, it is a big deal. But we’ll figure it out.”
After lunch, we went back out to the Airstream.
I stood in the doorway while he knelt back down in front of the battery compartment.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Hold the flashlight?”
I came over and knelt beside him. Pointed the beam where he needed it.
He traced the wiring harness from the fuse box back through the frame. Found a loose connection at the negative bus bar. Tightened it.
The lights came back on.
“There we go,” he said.
“Was that it the whole time?”
“Probably.”
“You spent an hour on that?”
“I wasn’t in the best headspace.”
I bumped my shoulder against his. “No kidding.”
He sat back. Wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Big Bend in four days,” he said.
“Big Bend in four days.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.”
We sat there on the floor of the Airstream. Tools and wire scattered around us.
“You know,” I said, “I’m glad you told me about your meds.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was starting to think maybe you were just an asshole.”
He laughed. “I might still be an asshole.”
“True. But at least now I know why.”
I stood. Offered him my hand. Pulled him to his feet.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s clean this mess up, then do something that doesn’t involve electrical systems.”
“Like what?”
“We have some maps to look at.”