From her spot by the door Lucy received the full blast of the heater, but she knew that in really cold weather the camp, perched as it was on cement block pilings, must be freezing. She unzipped her jacket and tried not to look as if she were inspecting the one-room house. Houses like this were common on the back roads, but she’d never been inside one before.

At first it was difficult to see much. It was dark in the house even though a bare bulb was burning in the center of the ceiling. Sheets of plastic had been taped over the windows to keep out the wind. As her eyes adjusted Lucy saw that the stud cavities had been filled with batts of fiberglass insulation; in places pieces of recycled paneling with worn and rounded edges had been nailed over the insulation. One end of the room was the kitchen, with an early-model propane stove that was also a heater. There was a table covered with an ugly plastic cloth and an assortment of chairs. A tiny plastic tree with twinkling lights stood on the table. There was no sign of running water or even an indoor bathroom. A dented and rusty refrigerator hummed noisily, bearing a picture of a Biafran child. His head was enormous, his eyes huge, and his tiny sticklike arms were crossed over his protruding ribs. Beneath the picture was written, “Before you yell about mac and cheese again, be grateful for what you got.”

Lucy swallowed hard and looked at the other end of the room. There an old sheet hung from a length of cord, separating a neatly made double bed from a set of camp-style bunks. All of the beds were covered with handmade log cabin quilts, faded with washing and drying in the sun. Sitting on the top bunk was a tiny little girl, a replica of her mother, with her dark hair and full lips.

“I was playing with the kittens, Ma,” she complained.

“It’s time to say good-bye to them,” Lisa said firmly.

“We’ll still have Tiger Lily, right?”

“That’s right.” She scooped up the kittens and held them against her chest for Lucy to see. “This one here is Midnight because he’s black, and this one is Jumbles, and here is Boots. We weren’t very original, but we wanted them to have names. You’ll probably want to name ’em yourself.”

“I’m sure my kids will have some ideas,” said Lucy, smiling a bit too broadly. “Let’s put them in the carrier, okay? I feel so lucky to have found them. Our cat was killed, and my kids are pretty upset. Having their own kittens will make Christmas special,” she gushed, suddenly wondering how this family was going to celebrate Christmas. “Is ten dollars apiece okay with you?”

“What?” Lisa’s face was blank.

“Ten dollars. I’m afraid I can’t go much higher.”