As he entered the kitchen, the part of his face visible above the mask showed red with effort. A fine film of sweat formed on his temples. In each hand Ezra gripped one of Gramp’s canes. His white knuckles jutted over the well-rubbed brown of the walking sticks.

“Nyle is cleaning the kitchen,” Mrs. Trent said, stating the obvious. “Nyle, I will ask you to close the curtains.” She lifted her hand to tuck some hair behind an ear. Her hand was shaking.

I wanted to tell her, to tell them both, there was no danger, no radiation to harm them. But I didn’t want to ruin things. I pulled the curtains shut.

“Only a few more steps to the table, Ezra,” Mrs. Trent said. “You are almost there.”

Ezra labored past his mother on the canes, his face tight with effort.

“I am going back to tidy our room, Ezra,” Mrs. Trent said.

She stood for a moment, unsure whether or not to leave. Finally she eased past Ezra, heading down the hall.

Ezra rested on the two canes and lifted his head. His eyes swept over the kitchen: the double sink, the woodstove, my outside clothes hanging over chairs in front of the hearth. He took in the enamel coffee pot, the doorless cabinets stacked with dishes and cans and preserves, the large oak table. He avoided looking at the outside door and the curtained windows.

“How you doing, Ezra?” I asked, standing at the sink.

Ezra didn’t answer. He studied the room suspiciously, as if something waited in hiding.

I concentrated on my dishwashing.

“Where’s the dog?” Ezra asked.

“Caleb? He’s out with Gran.”

“I meant the other one.”

“The puppy? He’s over there in the box by the stove, sleeping off breakfast. Gran said it was too cold to put him out yet this morning.”

Ezra made his way over to the table and dropped into a chair. “The puppy spends all day outside?”

I nodded. “His job is to guard sheep. Pretty soon he’ll spend all night outside too.”

Ezra stared across the table toward the box. “Is this room safe?” he asked. “Has anyone measured the radiation in here today?”

“Perfectly safe,” I said, drying my hands on the backs of my jeans. “No radiation anywhere.”

I picked up the detector and swept it around the room. It crackled innocently.

“Oh, wait,” I said. “Maybe a general inspection isn’t enough for you.” I waved the detector under the sink, inside the cabinets, under my armpit, over the stove, over the box with the puppy inside. The detector ticked its note of safety.

When I got near the box with the puppy, Ezra shifted in his seat to get a better look.

“Hey,” I called down to the box.

The puppy scrambled to his feet and whined.

I scooped him up out of his box. “We’ve got to check you, too.”

Lifting his ear, I slid the wand underneath. The soft crackle annoyed him. He shook his head and sneezed, trying to grab the detector in his mouth and chew on it. The puppy squirmed, his paws paddling air to get away. I aimed the detector at his fuzzy rear end.