“Mickie, I’m not going to use a gun,” I said, conscious of those articles about people who owned a gun to protect themselves having the same gun turned on them.
She placed it on the counter, along with a box of bullets. “Most people who own a gun never have to use it. It’s the threat of the gun that deters the need. Just keep it with you in the house. It will make me feel better.”
“Fine. I’ll keep it here, but I’m not going to use it.”
“I hope you don’t,” she said.
11
Over the next five days, the practice kept me busy during the day, and I brought paperwork home with me so I wasn’t at the office late. Mickie made a point of coming over for dinner a couple of nights, and she’d called Ernie and asked that he check in with me daily by phone.
“You’re not doing wonders for my manhood,” I said one night over dinner.
“I don’t care,” she said.
“Besides,” I said. “I got the big boy here to watch over me.” Bandit had become my most faithful companion, never leaving my side and sleeping in his dog basket in my bedroom.
“He’s never going to leave you now,” Mickie said. “You spoil him.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to move in,” I said.
She didn’t respond.
On the sixth day, Montoya called with the news she’d predicted. Bateman’s lawyer had obtained a continuance of the TRO hearing. In return, David had to agree to stay away from his daughter and his ex-wife until the matter was heard the following week. But that didn’t happen, either. The court again delayed the hearing when the judge got reassigned to handle a murder trial. All of this was incredibly frustrating and nerve-racking for Trina, and for me. Trina would get mentally geared up to fly back for the hearing, only to be told that it had been put off, and she had to wait and worry for another week. I didn’t have to make those kinds of arrangements, but I had to keep my schedule open. Bateman’s lawyer had subpoenaed both me and Dr. LeBaron to the hearing. Apparently, he intended to cross-examine us. There was little doubt in my mind that Bateman and his attorney were delaying the proceedings on purpose, just to screw with his ex-wife, and maybe with me.
When the hearing was set a third time, Montoya told me she’d call only if the hearing was put over.
Another week passed. The night before the rescheduled hearing, Trina Crouch called me to advise that she’d flown home and was staying in a hotel. She was nervous, her voice quavering, and seeking reassurance.
“I’ll be there,” I said. “So will Dr. LeBaron. And Montoya is confident the TRO will be granted and the judge will make it permanent. They didn’t file any doctor’s affidavits to counter our opinions. David’s attorney can cross-examine us all he wants. He can’t win. David can’t win this time, Trina. He can’t.” A part of me was saying this just to calm her, but a part of me truly believed David Bateman could not win, not without some competing doctor’s declaration.
I awoke at six the following morning after a fitful night tossing and turning. I gathered the newspaper from the driveway, my gaze drifting up and down the block, looking for a patrol car or a suspicious car I did not recognize. The hearing was set for 10:00 a.m. I spent the next two hours reading the paper, drinking coffee, and generally trying to keep myself occupied. At 8:00 a.m. I jumped in the shower. As I turned off the water, I heard my phone ringing, wrapped a towel around my waist, and answered the extension in the bedroom.
“Dr. Hill, it’s Merilee Montoya.”
My heart sank. “Please tell me they are not continuing the hearing again. What is wrong with our legal system? He’s manipulating everyone just to cause his ex-wife emotional distress. She’s a wreck. How can this keep happening?”