JULIAN 

I was at the bar again at eight-forty-five.

The dinner service had moved through the room with the efficiency of a well-briefed team, the servers knew the room, which meant someone had briefed them specifically, which meant there had been a briefing document, which meant she had written a briefing document for the serving staff. I had seen one of them pause at table seven to explain something about the menu to a guest with a quiet confidence that did not come from guessing.

Nate was back at the bar.

We stood with our drinks in the easy silence that eighteen years produced between two people, the silence that...