It's hard to imagine entire planets where nobody knows much of anything about the Bible--the thought is about as far from Georgia as she can imagine. And it makes it harder to answer, when she knows he might not really understand any of it.

"It's how we were raised," she finally says, shrugging. It's not far from what she believes, either, but the faith behind it feels so much smaller and less certain than it once did. What was once easy certainty looks so much more like faint hope now--full of maybe and if we're lucky and could be.

She doesn't really want to talk about it. So she turns her gaze back to him, trying to decide what's likely to needle him back into talking about himself. "What about you? I bet you want to be remembered."