"I remember."
"And you told Jake Walsh you love him. After two weeks."
"After two weeks."
Claire picked up her water. Put it down. Picked up her napkin. Put it down. She was cycling through objects the way she did when her mind was moving faster than her body could process.
"Tell me how it happened. Don't skip anything. Don't summarize. Don't give me the legal brief version."
Emily told her.
Not everything. Not the physical details that belonged to her and Jake and the darkness of her bedroom. But she started with Marchand, and what she hadn't said in the conference room when they'd both been too professional to fall apart.
"You saw what happened," Emily said. "But you didn't see his face in the hallway after. You didn't see what it cost him to walk out of that room without saying what Marchand deserved to hear." She turned her cup. "Three agents looked at Jake likehe was a piece of equipment they wanted to requisition. And Marchand offered him up like he was doing them a favor."
Claire's mouth pressed into a line. "I hate him."
"Marchand?"
"Deeply and immediately, yes."
Emily told her about the Salt Line. Leaving out the specifics, the location, Rick Weever, the details that belonged to Jake's world and weren't hers to share. But she told Claire that Jake had gone somewhere he felt safe. That she'd found him. That he'd been sitting with his back to a door, which hit her in a way she couldn't fully explain but which had frightened her in a way she couldn't put into words.
"He told me about the people he lost," Emily said. "Overseas. The ones he carries."
Claire went still. Not performing stillness. Actually silent, the way people get when they understand they're on sacred ground.
"He'd never told anyone. Not the specifics. Not the names." Emily turned her cup in circles on the saucer. "He told me, and I sat there and listened, and I didn't try to fix it or contextualize it or turn it into a problem I could solve. I sat with him."
"That's all he needed."
"That's all anyone needs. I didn't know that before." She looked at Claire. "Jake taught me that."
The waiter came. They ordered without looking at the menus because Claire always got the avocado toast and Emily always got the eggs benedict and some things in the world were predictable even when everything else had changed.
"So," Claire said when the waiter left. "The Salt Line. Then what."
"Then I asked him to come home with me."
Claire's eyebrows rose a fraction. "You asked him."
"I asked him. I said I wasn't asking for anything, but I was done pretending I didn't want everything. And he came home with me."
"Emily Callahan said that. Those words. Out loud."
"I did."
Claire pressed both palms flat on the table. "Okay. Back up. You said you found him. Where was he? You said you couldn't share the details, but I need to understand this because I'm trying to picture you — you, Emily — hunting down a man."
"He was at a bar. Not The Anchor. Another place, for operators."
"And you found it how?"
"I went to The Anchor first. Found a man named Rick who knew where Jake would go." Emily took a sip of her coffee. "Rick gave me the location, but he made me promise to tell them I'd threatened it out of him. Couldn't have his reputation ruined by being helpful."
Claire almost smiled. "Then what."
"Then I drove to Clearwater and walked into a bar full of men who looked like they could end a conversation with a look, and a woman at the door asked me if I was Jake's girl. And I said yes."
