Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

  The house had not sold. Nate was out of money and growing desperate to find some cash. He lowered the price of the house to $650,000 and called to tell me I’d better agree to any offers. I did agree. Whatever the house sold for, I would be fine. Things would work out. I knew I would also receive a portion of Nate’s retirement. This included a small settlement now and eventually a portion of his 401(k) when he reached retirement age. So I decided to stop renting and build a new house.

  I knew I needed to be close to Ingrid so she could help me with the kids when I went back to work. We looked for the least expensive spot we could find in Southlake. I wanted to build my house close to hers. I had to take Tré out of Fort Worth Christian School because I could no longer afford the tuition. He loved the school, and taking him out was an extremely difficult decision. It felt as though Tré was being penalized because of the divorce. It didn’t seem fair.

  In May, Nate served me with papers. He took me to court to get joint custody of the children and wanted out of the $2,000 monthly child support payments. I would not agree to joint custody. I wanted full custody of the children, and I didn’t care what he paid me in child support. He could pay whatever — so he stopped paying support.

  Now I was really in trouble — a single mom facing legal battles and legal bills. I felt totally outclassed. Nate Newton was still a celebrity, and everybody loved him. I was overwhelmed even by the need to find an attorney. Who could I trust? What should I look for? How was I going to afford it? I didn’t know what to expect or where to turn for help. The bills were staggering, unbelievable. I was on my own.

  By July, our new house was finished, and it felt like we were finally beginning to turn a corner. Tré was twelve and about to be baptized; King was ready to celebrate a birthday; and we were moving into our very own home! We had a huge celebration. At last, we seemed to be finding our own way. We just had to make it through the custody battle.

  When I arrived at the first court appearance, I was escorted into a mediation room. I was asked to explain why I didn’t want to let my boys go to Georgia with Nate. I explained that they would be in danger. I told the mediators that something was wrong with Nate, that he had a violent temper. I told them about the dogs he kept in Georgia — pit bulls. “The kids won’t be safe,” I said in earnest. “Nate is not stable. It will not be good for the boys to go to Georgia.”

  “Can you prove he’s not fit?” they asked.

  I described some of the things that happened in our marriage — about the violence and abuse.

  “Did he ever hurt the children?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh, “he never hurt the children, but he is violent.”

  “That has nothing to do with him not being able to take care of the kids,” came the reply.

  I was stunned when the mediators told me I had to allow Nate visitation rights, which meant thinking about such things as which holidays the children would spend with him. Then the subject of child support came up. Because Nate no longer had an income, he was no longer obligated to pay the amount that had been agreed upon for child support. Once again, everything was coming out in Nate Newton’s favor. Will I ever be free of this man? Even now, he gets to call all the shots.

  I left the courthouse dejected. I thought about reaching out to friends, but I wasn’t used to sharing my problems with people. Even if I did call someone, what could they do? How could they help? I was used to trying to figure things out on my own and didn’t know how to ask for help. God was the only one I really trusted. I had trouble with trust even in my closest relationships. All I knew to do was pray.

  On November 4, 2001, Nate was arrested in St. Martin Parish, Louisiana. The police had discovered 213 pounds of marijuana in his van, but there was no conviction. I continued to pray. I was desperate to find a way to prevent the boys from going to Georgia with Nate.

  In December, we had our next child custody court appointment. I had paid more than $40,000 in legal fees and was at the end of my rope. I fasted and prayed. “Please, God,” I prayed, “intervene.” I called my friend Sheila and asked if she could come to court to stand with me. She immediately agreed. When the mediator asked me which holiday Nate could have the boys, I said, “New Year’s Day.”

  I looked across the courtroom. There was Nate and his girlfriend. He was smiling and hugging her. Our eyes met, and my heart sank. It seemed as if he took pride in hurting me. I thought about all the things I had been through with him. I had never done anything to tarnish his reputation. I stood by him whenever he was in trouble. I took care of him and lived with his abuse in silence. I watched him lavish gifts on others, while all I got were angry words and curses. Why did he have to take the boys too?

  There was just one more court appearance to get through, and then everything would be settled. I left the courthouse broken-hearted. All I could do was surrender the future to God. “It’s up to you now, God,” I prayed. A few days before our fortieth birthdays in December — just five weeks after Nate’s arrest in Louisiana — Nate once again made national headline news. He was caught with 175 pounds of marijuana on Interstate 45. This time, however, he was not released; he was convicted and sentenced to thirty months in a federal prison.

  Tré was devastated. He had just started in a public school, so he was away from the friends he’d grown up with and the support structure he had come to depend on. I was embarrassed and angry. It was a nightmare.

  CHAPTER 26

  Standing Strong

  Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but in the ability to start over.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  If my kids are going to survive this, I’m the one who is going to have to show them how to do it. I looked at myself in the mirror, measuring the reflection I saw. Instead of sadness, I saw determination. I saw hope — even confidence. “We’re going to make it,” I said out loud, lifting my chin. I twisted the tube of lipstick and applied the color. I nodded to myself and squared my shoulders. “Better.”

  The boys and I grew even closer in the days that followed. I didn’t ask for help. I had a fiercely independent streak in me, and I believed we could deal with things on our own. I didn’t allow the boys to watch television during the week, and we had Bible study every day. We were active in church and spent lots of quality time together — healing, coping, finding our way. I got involved in women’s ministry and began looking for a job. I had not been employed professionally for some time, and I knew I needed something more than an entry-level position to take care of our needs.

  I really needed the child support, but with Nate in prison, there was none. Even with careful management, paying the legal fees and apartment rental costs and then building a house had exhausted all my resources. I felt like I needed to stay home with the boys during the transition, but I began to amass credit card debt just to make ends meet. That was something I was not willing to continue. It was time to take a job — any job. Even if it wasn’t enough to sustain us, it would be income.

  A friend, an internist, knew I needed a job and got me an interview at the clinic where he worked. I was hired for a position in the medical billing department. It was an entry-level position. The salary wasn’t enough to meet our expenses, and the job responsibilities weren’t challenging, but it was a job. It was also close to home, which allowed me to remain accessible to my kids. I took it, praying that God would make my income stretch and grant me favor.

  Three months after I began working, a management position opened up at the clinic. I spoke with the lead physician at the clinic, telling him I was interested and qualified. But in the back of my mind, I was concerned about all the bad publicity surrounding Nate’s arrest and afraid that because of it, I might not be given a fair shot at the job. My worries turned out to be unfounded. This compassionate man asked me to tell him about the kind of person I was. He asked about my experience and how I could be an asset to the company. I answered his questions openly and honestly.

  “You are the person I
’m interested in,” he said. “I’m not interested in who you’ve been married to or what the media has to say about you. I will not judge you, nor will I penalize you for someone else’s actions. All I ask is that you remain focused while you’re here and not let that life interfere.” From that time on, my career blossomed.

  While Nate was serving his sentence, he often called and sent letters, repeatedly asking to see the kids. I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I keep the boys away from their father? Should I take them to visit Nate and expose them to prison? What’s best for them? What’s best for me? I honestly didn’t know what to do.

  Tré missed his father and was old enough to understand that Nate had broken the law and was serving time as punishment. King was still young enough that he didn’t understand anything about the situation, but he also missed his daddy and kept asking to see him. I had reservations about exposing the boys to prison, but I felt sorry for Nate and was heartbroken for the boys.

  I decided that keeping the boys away was selfish, and so I committed to taking them to Texarkana once a month to visit Nate in prison. I had no idea what to expect. As the date for our first visit drew near, I longed for someone to talk to who could prepare me for the experience. I could think of no one, so once again, I prayed about it. I was scared to death as I made the long drive, but I knew God was with me — watching, guiding, protecting. I hoped that seeing Nate in jail would not disturb the boys.

  Visitation took place on Sunday, and it was too far to drive there and back in one day, so we drove over on Saturday and spent the night in a hotel. The first visit with Nate was awkward and strange, but Tré seemed relieved to be able to see with his own eyes that his dad was okay. King was more interested in the playground out front, but Nate seemed glad to see him. We made the long drive home, and I put the boys to bed. I went to my room and collapsed on the bed, completely drained.

  This became our monthly routine until the last year of Nate’s sentence when he was transferred to a prison in Louisiana. The Monday mornings after our trips were difficult. We were all so tired. Mornings were already hard. Tré had to be on the field for football practice at 6:30 a.m. Every day, I had to wake up five-year-old King, put him in the car, and drive Tré to practice. Then I drove back home, got King fed and ready for school, and went to work.

  For all the years I was married, I’d never had to worry about money. Nate gave me what I needed for monthly household bills. If the kids needed clothes or shoes or fees for any of their activities, he gave me his credit card to take care of it. When I scheduled his appearances, I received a small percentage for my work, and that took care of my personal needs, which were never much. Now I thought about money all the time. I had to be super-frugal. Every month, I had to manage and balance, and then adjust and balance again. Even though it was a fight to survive, it felt like a light load in comparison to what I had lived through. I gladly dealt with financial issues in exchange for peace of mind and safety. My heart was filled with gratitude that God had brought me through.

  For the most part, our friends didn’t want to talk about Nate’s situation, and we didn’t volunteer any information. I believe we wanted to open up and share what we were going through — we just didn’t know how. We didn’t know where to begin! Even with caring people all around us, it sometimes felt as though we stood alone in our past and in our pain. It was our burden to bear. It was our responsibility to deal with.

  I knew God wanted to do great things through me and the boys. I wanted us to focus on others and not get bogged down in our troubles and what we were dealing with when it came to our experiences with Nate. We got involved in Presbyterian Night Shelter in Fort Worth, supported food drives and clothing drives, and were actively involved in reaching out to others.

  Tré was now fourteen and held a Bible study in our home. He was a phenomenal athlete and an outstanding student. Though he was quiet, he was friendly and open about his faith. Instead of turning bitter when things were hard or allowing the trauma experienced in his childhood to overwhelm him, he excelled in everything he did. I was immensely proud of him.

  King was seven, and he and Tré were close. Tré was very protective of King and became his hero. King loved watching Tré play football. He followed him around and listened to him. Disciplining King was never a problem for me when Tré was around.

  Tré’s high school team, the Southlake Carroll Dragons, was a championship-caliber team, and his games were always exciting to watch. One night, I was sitting in the stands cheering him on and visiting with other football moms, when out of nowhere — there was Nate! He had been released from prison and wanted to surprise us. I had not heard from him in months. Now here he was, looking like a wild man — and he’d brought the woman he was with the night I called the police to make him leave our property. I knew the time for his release was approaching, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I was completely shocked!

  After the game, Nate found Tré, and they talked for a while. My friends just kept looking at me, perhaps for an explanation, but no one said anything. I’d never talked to any of them about Nate, and I certainly didn’t know what to say now. My thoughts were racing. He’s back. What does this mean? Is Nate going to leave us alone? Does he expect to come around the house now to visit the boys?

  It had been nearly three years since Nate left. While he was in prison, I felt completely safe, knowing he couldn’t show up to bother us. I wasn’t sure how to handle it now that he was back in Texas. It turned out that I didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was going to mean having Nate nearby again. He asked if I was sure we weren’t going to get back together again, and I assured him we would not. He said he wanted to retrieve all the belongings I had stored for him while he was gone, and then he wanted to take me back to court over custody.

  “What is it you really want?” I asked him. “Surely you don’t want joint custody of the boys. They are settled in their life. They are active in school. Tré is very involved in sports. Why would you want to interrupt their stability?”

  There had been no child support during the entire time Nate was in prison. He didn’t want to be responsible for back child support, and he wanted the monthly amount he was supposed to pay further reduced. I knew he didn’t have any income — he didn’t even have a job. We had gone all this time without any help from him, and I didn’t care about that — all I wanted was custody.

  Our attorneys argued back and forth, and we finally agreed that Nate would pay $850 a month to support the boys and 20 percent of the back child support over a period of time. I wondered if he had any idea how hard it had been on us financially while he was away. It didn’t matter. He was giving me full custody, and we would stay out of court. That was what mattered. The boys would stay with me.

  CHAPTER 27

  Familiar Tune

  Difficult things take a long time, impossible things a little longer.

  André A. Jackson

  Yes, Nate was back.

  While in prison, he was as active in the boys’ lives as prison allowed him to be. Whenever he called, he was nice to us. He was interested in the details of their lives and expressed concern for them in his letters, so I was hopeful that things might be amiable between us now that he was back. But it wasn’t to be. It seemed like every encounter with Nate was difficult and disagreeable. He was angry whenever he was around me. I didn’t want his anger spilling out around the boys, so I avoided him as much as possible.

  Now that I was working full-time, it was important to me that I focused on the boys whenever I spent time with them. I didn’t take calls on my cell phone or answer email. When I was spending time with them, I gave them my full attention. My friends knew this and respected our family time.

  One Sunday afternoon, I took King to his Little League baseball game. He was so cute in his uniform! I loved watching him play ball. Nate also came to watch. I kept my distance and sat with several other parents. Another little boy on the team was hitting home runs every ti
me he got a turn at bat. He was having quite a streak! All the boys wanted to use his bat — after all, it must be the bat that was responsible for all those home runs. When it was King’s turn to hit, he picked up the boy’s trophy bat to give it a try. I was smiling from ear to ear as he took his turn at home plate.

  Then I heard, “Dot!”

  “Dot, what bat is that?” Nate shouted at me from across the stands.

  I didn’t answer. What difference does it make? King is up. Watch the game, I thought to myself.

  “Dot!” Nate shouted again. “I said whose bat is he using?”

  People around me got restless. I was embarrassed. Why did Nate have to shout and make a scene? This was just Little League. Stop it!

  “I spent my f______ money on a bat for King, and he’s using someone else’s bat? Why?” Nate ranted.

  He continued shouting at me in front of everyone. I was mortified, and the parents in the stands were clearly getting uncomfortable. I couldn’t bring myself even to look at Nate. I took out my cell phone and called Ingrid. “Hi, Ingrid,” I said. “Can you come and sit with me at King’s game?” I never called Ingrid during their family time, so when I called her on a Sunday afternoon, she immediately knew something was wrong.

  “On my way,” she said. She arrived within a few minutes and came to sit by me. Nate would not let it go. He was stirred up and kept demanding to know whose bat King was using and why wasn’t he using the bat he had bought for him. It was awful.

  King knew something was wrong. Throughout the game, he kept looking into the stands and hearing Nate yell at me.

  When the game ended, I gave Ingrid a quick hug, and she looked me in the eyes, knowingly. I gathered King’s things and hurried him along to the car.

  “I will be talkin’ to King!” Nate shouted as I drove away.