“When I was a kid, an insurance man came to our house to sell my father some life insurance,” Jenny said. “He gathered the family together in front of the fireplace and took our picture with a Polaroid camera. It was a nice picture. My father was standing at one side of us all, looking proud. As we were passing the picture around, the insurance man snatched the picture out of my father’s hands and said, ‘What a nice family.’ Then he ripped my father out of the picture and said, ‘Now what will they do?’ I burst into tears. My father was frightened.”

Travis said: “I’m sorry, Jenny.” Perhaps he should have told her he was a brush salesman. Did she have any traumatic brush-salesman stories?

“Do you do that, Travis? Do you frighten people for a living?”

“What do you think?”

“Like I said, you don’t seem like an insurance man.”

“Jennifer, I need to tell you something…”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I got a little heavy on you. You do what you do. I never thought I’d be waiting tables at this age.”

“What did you want to do? I mean, when you were a little girl, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to have a family and a man who loved me and a nice house. Pretty unambitious, huh?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with that. What happened?”

She drained her wineglass and poured herself another from the bottle on the coffee table. “You can’t have a family alone.”

“But?”

“Travis, I don’t want to ruin the evening by talking more about my marriage. I’m trying to make some changes.”

Travis let it go. She picked up his silence as understanding and brightened.

“So, what did you want to do when you grew up?”

“Honestly?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to be a housewife, too.”

“When I was growing up that’s all any girl wanted to be.”

“Where did you grow up, Siberia?”

“Pennsylvania. I grew up on a farm.”

“And what did the farm boy from Pennsylvania want to be when he grew up?”

“A priest.”

Jenny laughed. “I never knew anyone who wanted to be a priest. What did you do while the other boys were playing army, give last rights to the dead?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. My mother always wanted me to be a priest. As soon as I was old enough, I went away to seminary. It didn’t work out.”

“So you became an insurance man. I suppose that works. I read once that all religions and insurance companies are supported by the fear of death.”

“That’s pretty cynical,” the demonkeeper said.

“I’m sorry, Travis. I don’t have much faith in the concept of an all-powerful being that would glorify war and violence.”

“You should.”