Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

  One Sunday night after a game, Nate was in an exceptionally good mood and asked me if I wanted to go with him to the state fair. He was in high spirits, and it sounded like fun. I was getting very close to my due date and feeling restless.

  We went to the fair, and I ate anything and everything in sight. I just could not stop eating! Nate was making fun of me and seemed to be enjoying buying me more and more food. Before long I was totally miserable. I told him I wanted to just go home and rest. I had eaten too much and didn’t feel well.

  Nate took me back to the apartment and told me he was going to go out for a while but would check on me while he was gone. Just then, I felt a sensation like a needle pricking me in my right side. “Ouch!” I cried out.

  Nate poked fun, “You just don’t want me to leave, do you?”

  “Go on,” I said, “get out of here!” and I meant it. I was so full of food I didn’t care if he came or went — I just wanted to lie down. There it was again. “Ouch!” It felt like a needle jabbing me. Why did I eat so much?

  Nate came back a little later, and I felt the sticking pain again. He decided to hang around just in case I needed him. The needle pricks kept returning. It didn’t seem to fit the description of any labor pains I had heard of or read about, but I decided to call the doctor just in case. While I was on the phone with my physician, it happened twice more, and he told me to come in immediately: I was in labor.

  We drove from Coppell to Medical City in Dallas. On the way there, I could not seem to get comfortable. I kept squirming around in my seat, and then it felt like someone was jabbing me in my side with a needle. When I arrived, the medical team examined me, and I was already dilated. Within one hour, Nathaniel Newton III (Tré) was born.

  On October 15, 1989, God blessed me with a beautiful baby boy. It was the most precious gift I had ever received. For the first time in months, I felt the sun come out in my soul. I was deliriously happy as I held that little bundle in my arms. It was a turning point.

  God revealed himself to me there in my hospital room. I felt him whisper my name. I felt him wash away my sin and shame. I knew I would love this little boy for the rest of my life. As surely as I knew I would never leave this little baby, I knew God would never leave me. As much as I knew that little boy could never do anything that would make me stop loving him, I knew God would love me forever, no matter what. I understood God’s love was perfect, and there was nothing I could do to cause him to take it away from me. It was like receiving a warm embrace — I felt God again, and it felt good.

  The whole hospital seemed to celebrate. Nate Newton just had a baby boy — a son! He pranced around the hospital cracking jokes and shaking everyone’s hand. He bought pizza for the entire floor. Nate was on top of the world. He had a son! I was lying in my room, thinking, Wow, he’s really happy! Then, just as soon as that thought came, another took its place: I wonder how long this will last.

  It was almost like I wasn’t even there — the whole place was buzzing around Nate, congratulating him, slapping him on the back, asking for autographs. I was just part of the background scenery, but I didn’t care. I had Tré. Tré was the world to me now. I looked into his eyes, and I melted. No matter what happened with Nate, I would have this child to love. That was enough.

  I had prayed for this little baby every day, no matter how sad I felt or how much fear, doubt, and shame I experienced. I prayed he would embrace the reality that he is God’s son. I looked at my little boy, and tears welled up in my eyes. One of the nurses expressed concern that I seemed so sad. She didn’t understand. I felt like I had a chance to make things right in my life again. It was like turning over a new page with no mistakes on it. I knew Tré was special. I was proud to be his mother. I was overwhelmed that God had trusted me with his life. I kept quoting the prophet Samuel: “For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of him: Therefore also I have lent him to the LORD; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the LORD” (1 Samuel 1:27 – 28).

  “O God, I love you,” I whispered. “I can feel how much you love me. Thank you. Thank you for giving me this peace. Thank you for giving me something so wonderful in the midst of something so bad. Thank you for this baby boy.”

  The tears kept softly flowing, but they were not tears of sadness; they were tears of release. Several nurses hovered nearby, and as they checked my vital signs, they were concerned at my tears. All I could say to them was, “I’m overwhelmed with love.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Ups and Downs

  I am so accustomed to being unstable that the only stability in my life is being unstable.

  Josh Lucas

  The six weeks following Tré’s birth were beautiful. My family came to help out with the baby, and I found a great deal of comfort in spending time alone with God and Tré. I pushed it to the back of my mind that I was living with Nate in an unmarried relationship. I was focused on taking care of Tré. Feeling God’s presence again in my life was so fulfilling that I didn’t want to deal with anything that might hinder the reconnection I felt. I knew I would have to deal with it sooner or later, but later was better.

  December came, and Nate and I shared another birthday. But the next day it was like someone had flipped a switch. Nate was a different person again. He started coming in late at night, or not at all. He was drinking more, and his language became increasingly coarse. Sometimes he came in at two or three in the morning and demanded that I get up and fix him something to eat — and not just a sandwich; he wanted a complete meal. I was exhausted from taking care of the baby, but to refuse him meant an argument, and I didn’t want him to wake up Tré. Once or twice he grabbed me hard and shoved me against the wall. It frightened me. Nate had always had a temper, but he had never physically hurt me before. I told myself we were all just really tired from taking care of a newborn.

  I still had one more month of maternity leave, and I was trying to figure out child care. The thought of leaving Tré with someone else terrified me, but the thought of becoming financially dependent on Nate terrified me even more. Nate’s early morning rants were bringing up very bad memories, and I was determined not to find myself in the same position my mother had been. I wanted to keep my job; Nate wanted me to stay home with his son. We argued about it, but my arguments were halfhearted because I agreed with Nate — I wanted to stay home with Tré. I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to raise him.

  I turned in my resignation. I had saved enough money that if I was careful, I could live for up to a year without needing a penny from Nate. This gave me comfort. For the first two weeks following my resignation, Nate was thrilled that I had decided to stay home with Tré. In short order, however, he began complaining that I was dependent on him. He grew irritable, argumentative, and insulting. The Cowboys were not playing well, which made his mood even blacker. The season ended early, leaving Nate with lots of free time and few obligations. He’d disappear for several days at a time, then reappear as if he had just stepped out for milk.

  There was no commitment; we just sort of acted married whenever it suited Nate. He still loved to go on road trips and loved showing off Tré. By the time Tré was four months old, we were taking trips as long as three weeks at a time to visit family members and friends in Louisiana, Florida, North Carolina, and Georgia. I didn’t mind because things were good when we traveled. He beamed with pride whenever he introduced Tré to someone.

  I was developing new clarity about my relationship with Nate. My role was to drop everything and make myself available to him whenever he needed me. Whenever he didn’t need me, I receded into the background to wait patiently until he needed me again. He didn’t treat me badly, but the time he spent with me wasn’t about loving me or being with me; it was about Tré. He was proud of having a son, and I was his son’s mother. I didn’t have freedom to make plans on my own because I always needed to be available whenever Nate called. Wherever we went, Nate introduced me as his wife.
People naturally assumed we were married. We acted married. We had a son. I think even our closest friends had just assumed all along that we were married. I often felt like Nate and I were strangers.

  It was October 1990. I had been at home with Tré for a year and was seriously considering returning to work. However, I had promised Nate that I would not go back to my career until Tré was at least two. When my lease came up, I had to decide if life with Nate was “good enough” to maintain. What did I want? What else would I do if I left him? Sometimes I looked in the mirror and saw my mother staring back at me, but I shrugged it off. Our relationship wasn’t like that of my mother and stepfather. Nate didn’t beat me. I could leave if I wanted to.

  When my lease expired, it was up to Nate to decide what to do. Since I didn’t have a job, finding a place to live was his decision. I didn’t feel like I should weigh in much, since I couldn’t contribute financially. He had often talked about having a house with a yard for Tré to play in, and a house sounded nice to me. There was a little place Nate was interested in near Coppell Deli, a favorite stop for the players on the way to the airport for away games. The house was small and in much need of repair, but this didn’t matter to me. I wanted Nate to understand that I was with him because I loved him and because we had a child together. People called our place “Newton’s Shack” and poked fun at it, but it never bothered me. It seemed to please Nate that I didn’t care about money. He was satisfied that I loved him for who he was and not because of his celebrity status.

  We moved into the tiny house, and I went to work making it a home for Nate, Tré, and me. I was like a domestic goddess — running all the errands, cooking, washing, ironing, packing his bags. I even got involved in scheduling his appearances and researching his endorsements. I was now totally financially dependent on him, and he was totally emotionally dependent on me. He was used to having me at his beck and call. But it wasn’t long before things got worse between us again. Nate stayed out late all the time and didn’t communicate his plans. A woman accused him of fathering her child. He denied it flatly, but he had hired an attorney. I never had any proof, but I was always suspicious he had paid her off. I knew he was sleeping around — many of the players were; it was part of the life.

  Nate spent more and more time in clubs and on the streets. He would roll in at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m., demanding full-course meals. If I refused, he threatened me or hurled profanities. I usually found myself doing whatever he asked just to appease him. One night, Nate stayed out all night and came home at noon the next day. Finally I’d had enough. I was tired of being disrespected. I was tired of being yelled at. I was tired of the other women. I told him I couldn’t live like that anymore and asked him to put a deposit on an apartment so I could move out. He cursed at me and yelled, “You’re not going anywhere!”

  He moved close to me in a hot rage, and I was scared. I thought he might actually hit me this time, so I went into another room. Satisfied that he had won the argument, Nate got undressed to take a nap. I decided I would wait until he was asleep, and then I’d run out of the house. The only problem was that he was in the bedroom, so I couldn’t grab any clothes to take with me.

  As soon as I was sure he had nodded off, I went out to my car and put nine-month-old Tré into his car seat. I was leaving for good. But when I put the key into the ignition, Nate came running out of the house wearing only his underwear.

  “Where are you going?” he shouted. “You better not leave!”

  I put the car in gear to back out, and in a split second, Nate crashed his fist into the windshield, shattering it on the driver’s side. I screamed.

  Our driveway was in plain sight of a busy street. People stopped and looked, but no one called the police or attempted to intervene. I was terrified. I backed out of the driveway, shaking, glass shattered on the seat and in my lap and Tré crying loudly. Where should I go?

  I drove to a nearby park and sat there in shock. Who should I call? Who would believe that Nate could do such a thing? I had met a lot of Nate’s teammates and their families, but I didn’t really know any of them.

  I thought about calling Lynn Martin. She had spent enough time with us to know Nate didn’t always treat me well. In fact, we’d been at their house one night when Nate dropped a bomb on all of us. K-Mart had turned to Nate and said, “Hey, Time [Big Time was K-Mart’s nickname for Nate], you got you a son!”

  “Yeah,” Nate replied, “that’s my baby boy alright, but I got me another son too.”

  Lynn, K-Mart, and I just looked at each other stunned, but none of us said anything to Nate. Later on, I questioned Nate and learned he had a son he had never seen but was paying child support for. It was on his mind that night because the woman wanted her new husband to adopt the boy, and Nate had to sign papers so the adoption could proceed.

  I felt like Lynn would understand how afraid I was that Nate had gotten angry enough to damage property. But I also knew that Lynn had little tolerance for sadness or excuses of any kind. If I told her a problem, she would speak praises over me, remind me of my destiny, and tell me who I needed to be. I imagined that if I shared with her, she would look at me with concern, but her response would likely be, “You’re a strong woman. You can get through this.”

  Nevertheless, I put the car in gear and started to drive to her house. Then I realized that telling Lynn was definitely not going to work. I was afraid of what she would tell her husband — and I couldn’t imagine what would happen if Nate found out I had exposed his violent temper to Lynn and K-Mart.

  I called Sheila, my former roommate. When she cheerfully answered the phone, I wavered. She was with her new husband and sounded so happy. I knew if I told her what had happened, she would drop everything and come to my rescue, but I just couldn’t spoil her happiness. I hung up the phone and stared through my broken windshield. What now?

  I had rushed out of the house quickly and had nothing with me but Tré and my purse. I decided I would spend the night in a hotel and go back to the house the next day to get some things before leaving for good. Then reality set in. I had no place to stay and no job. My mother’s face flashed before my eyes, and I shuddered. How had I let this happen to me? I had no choice but to go back to Nate. Then I could begin looking for a job so I could prepare to leave.

  I went back to the little house the next day, preparing for the worst, but Nate came home like a flipped coin. He was a completely different person. He apologized and said he was so ashamed of himself. He begged me not to leave. I told him I would stay, but I was going to get a job. He pleaded with me to think of our son and not go back to work. Stick with the plan, I thought. But he brought up God and said all the right things. I told him I wanted him to take me home to Louisiana so I could see my mom. I planned to tell her what was going on so we could figure out what to do. And maybe I would just stay there with her and not even come back.

  Nate felt so bad about what had happened that he agreed to take me to Louisiana, but he made sure I was never out of his sight. As usual, he painted himself to be the good guy, treating everyone to dinner and handing out money until they were all under his spell. For the three days we were there, it was like I was wearing a leash attached to Nate. He never left me alone for one minute. I quickly gave up all hope of talking to someone. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, and no one in my family had even the faintest clue that he was mistreating me. To them Nate was a hero and a gentleman, and I was his lucky celebrity wife, someone to be envied, not pitied.

  When we left Louisiana, instead of heading west back to Dallas, Nate started driving south. We ended up in Orlando to visit his family and friends. I did my best to fake good spirits, but I was miserable. Like a broken record, I couldn’t stop replaying the mistakes of the last year. One bad choice (to go on the pill) led to another bad choice (to have sex), which led to a bad situation (being pregnant and not married), which led to another bad choice (live with Nate, leave my job, etc.). If only I could go back in time and fix the first m
istake! One decision had led me down a detour of winding, bumpy, difficult roads — away from my dreams, away from my destiny. I felt trapped.

  We spent three weeks on the road traveling from place to place and visiting people. Along the way, we talked about what had happened, and Nate assured me that things would be different when we got home. He promised to get control of his drinking and his temper. He grew attentive again. He was kind when he spoke to me, and once again things improved between us. I let my guard down and started to think that maybe we had turned a corner.

  Everywhere I went, people were starstruck with Nate Newton. The moment they knew I was his “wife” (at least they all believed I was his wife), out came the special treatment. Even at church, people often brought me items and asked me to take them home for Nate or other Cowboys players to autograph. It was frustrating. Instead of being interested in me, it seemed like belonging to Nate was the most interesting thing about me. I was losing who I was. My whole world was wrapped up in Nate.

  CHAPTER 17

  Settling

  The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one’s self. All sin is easy after that.

  Pearl Bailey

  Lies have a way of compounding, like interest on credit card debt. Before long, you are totally engulfed, and it is hard to distinguish the truth from falsehood. I knew Nate was cheating on me, and it was increasingly difficult for me to be intimate with him. He always denied it, but he stayed out late all the time and sometimes didn’t come home until the next day. Sometimes when he had too much to drink, he emptied his pockets and a scrap of paper would fall out with a woman’s phone number or address scrawled on it. I scooped them up, determined to learn who he had been with.