“That man is a dipshit,” Megan said, glaring at the defense lawyer, not bothering to keep her voice down. I was sure he heard her, but he made no motion to indicate it.
“Megan,” I scolded. “This is not some bar where you can fling insults and get pushed out by a bouncer. In this bar, the bouncer is a bailiff and you don’t get banned from the bar, you get taken to jail. So watch yourself.”
“He’s still a dipshit.” She said, only this time much quieter. I nodded slightly, agreeing with her.
An intern working for my lawyer took the three of us to a private room that apparently was used solely for nursing moms. There was a little cartoonish sign on the door of a mom holding her baby and it only made me sad that I didn’t have my baby with me. I was grateful for the space and the privacy though. I was also grateful for the break.
Once we were all situated and Kalli and Megan were discussing the defense team a little more openly now that we weren’t in the courtroom, I pulled out my phone to check my messages.
I have not given you enough credit for how strong and incredible you are. I love you madly, and Mattie is so lucky that you are her mother.
Also, they have taken Mattie to put in her PICC line. They say she should be back in about 45 minutes. How is everything going for you?
Hey, Babe. Mattie came back sleeping peacefully, PICC line successfully implanted. It’s actually pretty cool. And no more needle pokes so that’s awesome. I hope everything is going well in court. Please text me when you get a chance. We miss you.
Reading his texts I was immediately struck by a multitude of emotions all at once. First I was panicked that she’d had the procedure done while I was away. I’d officially missed something important. The thought of not being there in case something terrible had happened made my chest ache and my breath caught in my throat.
Next came relief that everything seemed to have gone all right. Then came another wave of relief with the idea that she wouldn’t need to have any more pokes to draw blood and no more I.V. shenanigans to be dealt with. I let the tension leave me with a sigh and typed my response.
I am so glad everything went smoothly. I miss you both too. Trial is, uh, interesting. I was on the stand and then they called a recess. Defense is trying to question my memory of his face.
I knew Porter would be upset by my update, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it from across the city. A response from him was almost immediate.
Give ’em hell, Babe. Mattie and I will be waiting for you this evening. And by the way, she told me she didn’t like the bottle. Hated it. Only drank it in protest.
I laughed out loud at his message, but my heart swelled in my chest at his words as well. He knew exactly what was most upsetting about this day and also knew exactly how to make it easier for me. I responded with a smile on my face.
I love you. Give Mattie some snuggles for me.
I’ll try, but she keeps telling me that I’m not as comfortable to lay on as you are. She’s pretty mouthy. ;)
Oh, and I love you too. Always.
Time passed too quickly and we found ourselves back in the courtroom and I was, once again, called to the stand to continue my testimony. The judge reminded me that I was still under oath, to which I gave her an understanding nod and a quiet, “Yes, Your Honor.” The defense lawyer made his way towards me again, slowly, not making eye contact, reminding me of a snake in tall grass, slithering his way towards his prey. He tried to throw me off, intimidate me, but I wasn’t having any of it. I could see him, plain as day, and refused to be anything but confident in that moment.
“Mrs. Masters, before the recess we were talking about your miraculous memory returning just in the nick of time to I.D. a random man in a line up.”
“But he wasn’t random. That was the man who was arrested and found to have a gun on him which matched the type of gun that shot me. That’s not a coincidence.”
“Your honor, this witness is not qualified to offer testimony as to what my client had on him when he was arrested or not. Please let her previous statement be stricken from the record.”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “Jury,” she said, turning to address the group of people sitting to our left, “you will not allow the witness’ previous statement alter or influence your final decision. It has been stricken from the record.” The jurors all nodded and turned their faces back towards me.