Greg looked at the bags of groceries in the back seat and thought about the fact that they had almost died in aisle four and still come home with yellow onions.
Cathy was in the kitchen when they walked in. She looked at the bags, then at Dustin, then at Greg’s hands.
“What happened?”
“Shelf collapsed at Garrett’s,” Dustin said, setting the bags on the counter. “We’re fine.”
Greg stood in the doorway and tried to hold his hands in a way that suggested they were not a big deal.
This was difficult because they were visibly a very big deal.
“Those need cleaning,” Cathy said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Sit down.”
Greg sat.
Cathy got the first aid kit from under the bathroomsink, pulled up a chair, and took his hands in hers. She turned them over, examining the burns with a steady, unreadable expression.
“How did a collapsing shelf burn your hands?”
Greg opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He had not prepared a cover story for this.
“He grabbed a hot pipe,” Dustin said from behind them. “There was an exposed pipe on the shelf. Near the lighting fixtures.”
“Hm.”
Cathy did not sound remotely convinced.
Nevertheless, she cleaned Greg’s palms with antiseptic.
Greg hissed through his teeth.
“Hold still,” Cathy said.
Greg held still.
Dustin hovered behind her, looking like he wanted to help and had no idea how. His own shoulder was stiff, his face too pale, but his eyes stayed fixed on Greg’s hands as Cathy wrapped them.
When she was finished, Greg’s hands looked like white mittens.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t touch anything hot.”
“I’ll try.”
Cathy packed the first aid kit away, then looked between them. “Are either of you going to tell me what actually happened?”
Dustin and Greg exchanged a glance.
“No,” Dustin said.
