by June Shaw

This morning I heard footsteps padding around on my roof and had hopes: Maybe it was Santa (I mean it's the coldest day so far this winter in south Louisiana--the low forties last night.)

It wasn't such a surprise, though, when a man came down, a slim man who'd gone up on the ladder I had watched him lean against the house. That was before I felt the wind's chill and pulled my nose back in my snug house.

He came down minutes later and knocked on my backdoor again. "I'm sorry. There'...