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“Do you miss it?”
Alan looked up from tumbler of scotch he'd been mulling, bemused. There was no telling what Denny meant by the word. “It” could signify anything from the rented hotel room he'd called home before moving in with Denny to the bottle of brandy they'd finished off the night before. “Perhaps you could be more specific?”
Denny took a seat in the second oversized deck chair, reaching across the table between them to nab the ashtray. He tapped his cigar on the edge. “Crane, Poole and Schmidt.”
“Ah.” It was a complicated question. There'd been people there that he did miss—and others that he most definitely didn't—but then, the firm that he'd worked for then no longer existed. The people that he cared about had moved on from what had become Chang, Poole and Lewiston. “Not really,” he answered, finally.
“You don't miss the cases? The clients?”
“I have cases and clients, Denny.”
“Alan, you've been before the Supreme Court. You've brought billion dollar companies to their knees. And now you're reduced to dog attack cases...” Denny's voice trailed off.
“That wasn't your average dog attack.” The case he'd won that morning had featured a Pit Bull and owner versus a Yorkshire Terrier. What had lured him into taking the case was that atypically, the Pit had been neither the aggressor or the victor. Despite the Pit's vet bills, Alan had feared that public perception might prejudice his case—at least, he had until the snarling, growling Yorkie from hell tried to eat the bailiff's arm. “Being a big dog isn't always all it's cracked up to be.”
Denny eyed Alan with a sideways look, grunting his disagreement. “You're better than this. I cost you the better part of your career.”
So that was what this was about. Alan reached across the table, taking Denny's hand—the one not occupied with his cigar—then turned in his seat to face him. “Denny, I have never for one moment regretted marrying you, or leaving the firm, or anything that's happened since. Don't ever think that I have.”
Denny stared at him for a moment, as if studying him and judging the honestly of his words. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found. “Alright, then.”
With one last squeeze, Alan let Denny's fingers slide through his own. He reached for the bottle. “Scotch?”
“Don't mind if I do.”
Alan filled a second glass and lifted his own in a silent toast. All was right with the world.