Back at the table our food had arrived. Tom was sawing into his pork chop. The waiter came by to ask how we liked our dinner, and I hated the way he looked at me. I picked at my pasta—a dish that Tom had ordered for me—but I hadn’t been tasting anything at all. I took another bite and nodded, hoped that would answer his question. I knew I was close to failure, that so far I had been anything but the kind of girl Tom wanted me to be, the kind of girl Des had sold him on—flirty and giggling, dumb and sweet. I had to force myself to meet his eye. I wondered what would happen if he wasn’t happy with me, if he could ask for his money back. Or worse, if he could get Des and me in trouble. Everything was on my shoulders. I touched the pearls on my bracelet and reminded myself to breathe.

“What do you do?” I asked.

“What do I do?” he asked back. He smiled but his voice was snide.

“Uh, yeah. What’s your job?”

“Insurance,” he said.

“That sounds interesting.”

“You’re interested in insurance?” He raised his eyebrows and looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“No. I mean, yes. Maybe.”

“Let’s not talk about business, huh?”

“Okay,” I said. He went back to his meat and I looked up, like instructions might be written on the ceiling. It was painted with a scene of angels sitting in fluffy clouds. Women in colorful tunics clutching harps, a temple with big beige columns at the entrance. Ugly cupids who seemed to smirk at me.

I looked back at Tom, knowing his real name must be something else. I guessed we had that in common. Both of us were pretending. Both of us wanted to escape from who and what we were. That was when I saw it—just a glimpse. Flat blue water, like a bay. Or a lake. He was watching a thin, blonde waitress balance a tray of drinks on her arm.

“What was it like, growing up by the water?” I asked. It was just a guess, really, but that’s how the visions worked, most of the time. They were like the tarot. Clues you needed to puzzle out, create stories around. He turned to me, and I could tell I was close by the way his attention snapped back. He tilted his head and leaned, just a little bit, closer to me.

“Did I tell you I was from Michigan?”

“No, I just guessed.” I tried to use the voice that I saved for clients in the shop, calm and serene, but with a little bit of sugar in it. “Something about you, I can just … tell.”