Page 55 of Life’s Too Short

“Balsam fir,” he said without skipping a beat.

“Right answer.” I nodded to a lot on the left. “Those are balsams.”

He pulled into a parking space and we got out. I took Grace from her car seat and did a quick diaper change. Then I bundled her up, and we set out between the rows of pines.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and around thirty degrees—a Minnesota heat wave for December. We crunched through the snow, looking at the selection.

“Isn’t this better than being at work?” I asked, closing my eyes and breathing in the crisp air.

“I have to admit this does beat depositions,” he said, holding the saw.

“So you’re a partner, right?” I asked, looking over at him. “What does that mean exactly? You’re the boss?”

“I am one of the bosses, yes.”

“But not the big boss?”

“The big boss is Marcus. He’s the owner and founder of the firm.”

“And what’s he like?”

He bobbed his head. “Serious. Shrewd.”

“So how does that work exactly? He’s the owner and you’re what? Like if this was a retail setting, what position would you have?”

He stopped to look a tree up and down. “Well, I guess if this was retail, I’d be the store manager. Marcus and I agree on what cases we take and who we hire. I consult with him if I need to, but he defers to my judgment for most things.”

“And how many lawyers are there?”

“We have nine right now. Plus three paralegals and a couple of administrative assistants.”

A soft wind blew and I tucked Grace’s blanket around her face, kissing her warm forehead. “So do you get all the best clients?”

We kept walking. “Technically clients belong to the firm. Any of us can show up to represent them. But I usually head up the bigger cases.”

“Ahhh. I see. And do you like Marcus?”

“I respect Marcus. Liking him isn’t really necessary.”

I stopped at a large tree. “What about this one?” I nodded to it.

Adrian examined it. “For me or you?”

“You. I’ll need something a little smaller. I don’t have as much room as you do.”

He nodded. “This works for me.”

He got down in the snow and tucked under the boughs of the tree and started to saw.

“So what’s Annabel like?” he asked, the tree shaking back and forth.

“Angry.”

He stopped sawing and poked his head out to look at me. “Angry?”

“Angry. Like a pissed-off, grounded, petulant high schooler.”

“Why?” He went back under.