Never Giving Up (Never #3) (32 page)

As far as I could tell, Mattie was possibly the easiest baby to take care of in the history of newborns. The morning passed calmly enough. No real crying or issues, and Mattie did well too. We were both torn up with concern about Ella and missed her terribly. Well, I might have noticed her absence more than the baby, but we’d never tell Ella that.

I was able to feed her a bottle and even though I loved every moment, every tiny little whimpering gulping sound Mattie made as she drank her bottle and gazed into my eyes, I told her not to get used to it and that Mommy would be back soon enough and these bottles would be long gone. Mattie’s eyes drifted closed in what I took to understand as compliance.

Ella’s parents showed up mid-morning letting me know Megan and Kalli were with Ella and that gave me some relief from the tension I had felt all morning. Guilt was weaving its way into my mind and taking root, but I tried to remind myself frequently that Ella was strong and could handle this on her own. Plus, I couldn’t exactly promise myself that had I been in the same room with Jason Ramie he’d make it out of his own trial with his life.

Yes. It was better that I was here, calmly holding my daughter and just
looking
at her. She was beautiful, truly adorable. No one ever told me that when babies yawn, your whole heart sort of puddles around your feet. They yawn and stretch, arch their backs, and their tiny little bottoms push out making the whole thing too cute to stand. I watched her, enraptured by every wiggle, every sound, and every gurgle. I was interrupted when the door to her room opened and Dr. Edwards came in with more doctors in white coats flanking her sides.

“Hello, Mr. Masters. We’ve had a bit of juggling with schedules and procedures lately and it looks as though we’ll be able to get Mattie in for her PICC line sooner than we had thought.”

“Oh?” I asked, standing and placing Mattie in the crib.

“Yes. Is your wife here this morning?”

“No. She had to be at a trial this morning. She’s downtown.”

“Oh, well, that was probably difficult for her, but also good that she got out of this room. She’s been so attentive, but one can only take so much confinement.” Dr. Edwards gave me a smile that showed admiration.

“She’s pretty stubborn,” was all I could say as I laughed my reply.

“Well, be that as it may, she’s done an excellent job.” She looked over at Mattie. “We’re going to take her now, if that’s ok with you, and she should be back in about forty five minutes.”

“Now?”

“Yes. We’re ready for her.”

“And I can’t go with her?”

“Unfortunately, no. This isn’t an invasive procedure, but it is important that it is done in a controlled environment. We will be using ultrasound machines to watch the catheter in her veins to make sure we get it placed correctly.”

I paled at her words, feeling the blood drain from my face.

“You’re not going to put her under, are you?” I became instantly panicked. Ella and I had talked about the procedure, but I was only given the information Ella provided me with, and obviously hadn’t thought to ask any really important questions until this very moment when my pulse was racing and my protective instincts were trying to claw their way out of me like a caged bear.

“No, no, no. Mr. Masters, I am not trying to worry you.” She patted my arm in an attempt to calm me, but I just wanted some answers. “We will simply be putting another line in her, just like her I.V., but it will be inserted in a different location—her elbow. Then we just watch it with the ultrasound as it makes its way up the vein and we place it right outside the heart. We do wrap the babies up very tight, leaving only the one arm available, just to keep them from wiggling, as they tend to do. But the procedure is relatively pain free, just like having an I.V. put in, and she doesn’t need to be put under any anesthesia.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief, then sucked another breath more urgent than the one before. “Wait,” I rasped, suddenly terrified. “Could she . . . can this . . .” I couldn’t even make myself say the words. I ran a hand down my face.

“Mr. Masters, please, take a seat.”

I stumbled backwards and landed in the chair, putting my head in my hands between my knees. I felt Dr. Edwards kneel next to me.

“Mattie is going to be just fine. This is not an invasive procedure. We do them all the time, even on babies as tiny as her. I have never seen any real complications besides not being able to get the catheter in to begin with. The highest risk involved with this is infection.” I lifted my head and looked at her, trying to take in her words and hear what she wasn’t coming right out and saying.

Mattie wasn’t going to die. This wasn’t going to kill her.

“Well,” I said as I shook my head and ran my hand through my hair, “that was a fun little breakdown.”

“Mr. Masters, it can be very stressful having a child in the hospital, you’re doing just fine. And hopefully, if everything goes well, you won’t have to be here much longer.”

I smiled at her and watched as one of her colleagues lifted Mattie from her crib and they took her away without really giving me a second glance. I collapsed back into the chair again, a new exhaustion coming over me. How had Ella dealt with all of this for a week? I didn’t envy that Ella had been the one to take Mattie to the doctor to begin with, but now that I had a taste of the fear of not knowing what was going on with your child, I knew Ella had lived through something no one should ever have to.

I pulled out my phone to text her.

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?

I could feel my hands shaking as I walked towards the chair where the bailiff was waiting to swear me in. He was big and burly. He also looked slightly unfriendly. He stood in front of me and made me promise I wouldn’t lie. I, personally, didn’t need the man to scare me into telling the truth, but understood the process and routine.

I took my oath and sat in the chair, smiling just a little at how full of uncomfortable chairs my life had been lately.

“Mrs. Masters, can you please tell the court where you were the night in question?”

I rubbed my hands on my thighs to wipe the dampness away and to try to tame the shaking.

“I drove back from the beach that night and came home to find my ex-boyfriend in our apartment, well, my apartment that we had previously shared. He wasn’t supposed to be there. We had an altercation and I left. I then went to my store, Poppy, to wait for my boyfriend to come and pick me up.”

“And how long were you at Poppy alone?”

“About an hour and a half. I fell asleep in the backroom.”

“What woke you?”

“I heard a banging on the glass doors.”

“What happened next?”

“I walked out of the backroom and saw a man standing outside the doors.”

“Can you describe the man you saw?”

“Yes. He was tall, perhaps six foot five. He wore a dark hoodie and dark pants. Um,” I stammered, trying to fight the nerves taking over. I also was trying not to look at Jason Ramie as I described him, Mr. Donaldson had warned me against that. “He had a defined chin, dark hair, light eyes, I think maybe blue? And his nose was crooked, as if it had been broken before.”

“What happened next, Mrs. Masters?”

“He asked me for food, and I thought he was a transient so I told him through the glass that I didn’t have any. Then he raised up his arm and was holding a gun.” My voice wavered slightly, and I took a deep breath. I tried to push the memory out of my mind and my eyes found my sister and focused on her. She smiled at me and nodded. “The man,” I continued, hoping I sounded a little more put together than I felt, “pulled the trigger on his gun and I was shot in the shoulder. The fall caused severe head trauma and I was taken to OHSU for treatment.”

I exhaled, glad I had made it through the retelling of one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

“Mrs. Masters is it true that you identified your shooter in a line up at the Portland Police station?”

“Yes.”

“Is the man you identified here today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you point to him, please?”

I raised my arm, just as Jason Ramie had when he pointed a gun at me, and aimed my finger directly at him.

“That’s him. The man who shot me.”

“Thank you,” he said to me. He then turned to the judge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Defense, the witness is yours to cross examine.” The judge’s voice was short, cold, and sharp. It made sense though. She was obviously impartial and not interested in anything except order. Jason Ramie’s main attorney stood and buttoned his gray blazer, walking towards me with a slimy smile on his face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Masters, how are you today?”

Caught off guard by his question, not expecting to exchange pleasantries, it took me a moment longer than I would have liked to formulate my answer.

“I am anxious to put this all behind me. I have a brand new baby in the hospital waiting for me to come back to her. So if you wouldn’t mind . . .” I tilted my head to the side, hoping my snark was coming across. I happened to catch Kalli grinning from her chair, so perhaps it was working.

“Right. We all want to get back to our lives, Mrs. Masters.” He took a moment to let his comment sink in, and the meaning wasn’t lost on me. I readjusted myself in my chair while he took his pregnant pause. “Tell me, what happened
after
you were shot?”

“I was taken to OHSU and treated.”

“For what?”

“I had a gunshot to the shoulder and a sub-cranial bleed.”

“But you recovered.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“But not entirely.” Again, a statement.

“Objection, Your Honor. Counsel isn’t cross examining the witness. He’d need to be asking questions to do so.” Mr. Donaldson sounded exasperated. Being a lawyer took a lot of acting ability, I was learning.

“Your Honor, I am trying to make a point and if it pleases the court, I would like to continue.”

After a few seconds the judge responded with, “Get to the point, Counselor.”

“Mrs. Masters, you had some long-lasting effects from your unfortunate accident, didn’t you?”

“A few. To which are you referring?”

“Memory loss, for one?”

“Yes. I suffered from retrograde amnesia.”

“So, for a time, you couldn’t remember the actual shooting in question or the shooter for that matter.”

“That is true. But my memory returned about two months after the accident.”

“Fully?”

“Mostly.”

“Meaning?”

“There were a few things that were still fuzzy, and even now sometimes I have a hard time recalling things that happened in the six weeks of memory that I lost, but most of it comes to me fine.”

“Was your shooter’s face and identity part of the memory that came back easily?”