Silent Cry (18 page)

I never knew how much money Nate had, and I never cared. I knew he spent lots and
lots of money — he had an obsession with cars and dogs — but he didn't spend it on
me. He used only one credit card, American Express. The bill went to his agent in
Florida each month, so I had no idea how much he spent or what he spent it on. I
received enough money from him each month to pay our household bills, and he paid
me for organizing his events and appearances. Since I wasn't allowed to have many
friends or hang out with other Cowboys wives, I didn't need much money.

On one occasion, he had so overspent that his agent forwarded the American Express
bill to the house for Nate to review. I saw this bill, including charges to Louis
Vuitton and fine jewelry stores. Of course, none of these items were for me. But
I wondered about the woman he had purchased them for. I wondered if she knew about
me. I never shopped lavishly,
and any spending money I received had come from my
modest salary at First Coppell Bank and now from scheduling Nate's appearances. I
knew that if I had asked for something, Nate would have given it to me. He was generous
with everybody. But I didn't want to ask.

One Thursday night, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Nate's truck, and we were
arguing about that credit card bill. I asked him about the charges and who the items
were for. Without warning, he hit me in the face over my left eye.

“It's my money, b______! You better not ever question me. You have no right to question
me about how I spend my money, who I spend it on, where I spend it. Just because
you're my wife doesn't give you a reason to question my business!”

The blow left a visible bruise. I knew I couldn't miss a game without serious consequences
from Nate, so I wore big sunglasses and went to the stadium. Sandy Irvin came over,
and after she was done loving on Tré, she said, “Dot, can I tell you something?”
I looked up at her, wondering if she could see my bruise. Fear gripped me.
Can she
tell? Can she see it?
I felt the lowest I had ever been.

“Dot, you are a beautiful person,” Sandy said. “You are just so beautiful!” I wanted
to burst into tears. It was as if God had sent her to me to remind me that he loved
me.

Every time I summoned the courage to leave Nate or go to the authorities, it seemed
like he got into trouble with the law. I told myself I needed to stay and see him
through whatever crisis he was in — and then I would go. Each time I stuck with him,
he would be grateful, and things would get better for a little while.

I still felt responsible for Nate's spiritual condition — that it was my assignment
to see him through to salvation. After a beating, I would think,
This is the last
thing I'll have to go through,
and then it will be good. If it means Nate will come
to know the Lord, this will all be worth it.
I rationalized that I was keeping the
worst of it hidden from Tré, and so I was the only one paying a price. When things
started to heat up, I would send Tré to play in his room, or I'd start a movie for
him. I never wanted him to be frightened. I knew Nate would never ever hurt Tré.
I just wished he felt the same about me.

By the end of 1994, I was completely exhausted — mentally, emotionally, and physically.
I didn't have the strength for one more argument or one more beating. I just wanted
it to end. One night after Nate had pushed me around, cursed, and yelled at me for
hours, I poured out all my sorrow and grief to God. “Lord, I'm ready to be with you,”
I prayed. “I don't care if I live or die.”

I hugged my knees to my chest, wishing for one moment that I might die then and there
so I could be safe with God forever. Then, in the same moment, I suddenly wanted
Tré to know this same love I had for God — how I felt like he was hugging me through
all these painful times.

“God, let me live,” I whispered. “Let me live so I can teach Tré to love you like
I do.” In that moment, more than anything, I wanted to live. I wanted to survive,
so I could be the one to teach Tré to love God with all his heart, soul, and mind.
I wanted him to grow up strong and healthy and become a godly man. It didn't matter
what else I had to go through if it meant that Tré had what he needed.

CHAPTER 19

The Good Life

Success makes life easier. It doesn't make living easier.

Bruce Springsteen

A
s the 1994 season began, the Cowboys were coming off back-to-back Super Bowl championships
and
were
at their peak. Nate was in his prime as a professional athlete and had grown wealthy.
So when Nate spotted a rat one night at our modest home in Coppell, that was it —
it was time to move! Nate decided he wanted to build his own home. He wanted land
and privacy — a respite from everything that had to do with the Dallas Cowboys.

Nate put me in charge of getting the house built. He wanted to pay for everything
with cash — no mortgage, no debt. As long as I stayed within the budget and the house
was comfortable for entertaining, Nate trusted me to take care of all the details.
It was one of the nicest things Nate ever did for me.

It was wonderful to have the freedom to make decisions. Planning and working with
the builder made me feel important, and I enjoyed the process. Nate never once complained
about any decisions I made or the furniture I chose. He seemed genuinely excited
as the house took shape, and he enjoyed listening to me ramble on and on about the
details of the build. Focusing on the project was a good diversion, and for the most
part, things went well between us.

We had a wonderful builder, and he was around often enough to see us in unguarded
moments when things were not so nice between Nate and me. He never witnessed any
outright physical abuse, but he seemed to know that things were not
all they appeared
to be, and he was especially gentle and kind with me.

The only blowup Nate and I had about the house happened when the builders made a
mistake with the front of the house. I wanted it to be a certain way, but the builders
did something else. I decided I could live with it, but when Nate found out about
it, he was livid. He did not want me to settle for what had happened. We scheduled
a meeting with our builder, but before going in, Nate threatened me that I better
fix this. In other words, I had to insist they fix it exactly like I wanted it in
the first place without any change in the price. I was horrified. I didn't want to
make a fuss with the builders, but I also didn't want to make Nate angry. I went
into the meeting to discuss the problem, but before the meeting was over, I was yelling.
I felt so terrible about the whole thing. As I left the meeting, I asked God to forgive
me and hoped that the men would somehow understand that the person they saw wasn't
who I really was. I was upset about it for days afterward.

Just as the house was finished and we were ready to move in, it was time for Tré
to begin kindergarten. Even though Fort Worth Christian School was an hour-long drive
from the new house, it was important to me to keep Tré there. I wanted him to be
in a Christian environment that reinforced the values I was teaching him at home.
It was a good school — and the right one for Tré. I didn't mind the drive at all,
because being away from home was good for me too.

My best friend from college, Sheila, was in the process of moving to Atlanta, and
I knew I was going to miss her. I was making new friends at Tré's school, but as
usual, most people were interested in becoming my friend more because I was
Nate
Newton's wife and less because I was Dorothy. But within a week of school starting,
I met Ingrid at Tré's Tae Kwon Do class. She noticed people flopping all over me,
bringing me things for Nate to autograph or wanting to talk about football, and she
kept her distance. I noticed her because she was not seeking me out, so I introduced
myself to her. We were about to throw a birthday party for Tré at Texas Stadium with
five hundred people in attendance. When I invited Ingrid, she was shocked since I
didn't really know her. But I sensed she was genuine, and I believed we would become
friends. We started driving to Tae Kwon Do tournaments together, and before long,
we became very close friends.

Nate was gone a lot, and Ingrid's husband, Monte, was an executive who worked long
hours. When our kids were in school, Ingrid and I had more time to spend together.
We would do her errands together one day, and then do my errands together the next
day. We exercised together, did Bible study together, and went to school functions
and our children's special events together. I loved being with her. Little by little,
I began to open up to her about my life — the good and the bad.

Ingrid listened to me with such patience and gentleness. She listened to me talk
about the abuse, and I must have sounded like a broken record, but she listened to
me every time like it was the first time she had ever heard me. When Nate would apologize
and promise that things would be better, I would tell Ingrid he had turned a corner,
and she listened. Then, when things would get bad again and the abuse would start
over, she listened and never judged me. She validated who I was and promised to stand
with me and do whatever it took. I made her promise to never say anything to her
husband, and she swore she never would.

Ingrid and I talked every day, but I didn't always tell her
when things were bad.
Sometimes it was just good to get up, get out of the house, and have someone to be
with who loved me and treated me well. I didn't want to spoil things all the time
by complaining about life with Nate. Ingrid always allowed me to be myself. I could
not imagine my life without her in it. Ingrid was just like family.

In the fall of 1994, Nate got into trouble with the law. He'd been in a car accident
while under the influence of alcohol. After pleading guilty to reckless conduct,
he received a six-month probation sentence. Once again, this brought negative press
attention and a public trial, but I stood by him, supporting him and offering encouragement.
This touched Nate. He knew I was sincere in my support, and he really did try to
adjust his behavior and become a better husband through the ordeal. He spent more
and more time at home, and things were calm between us. Nate even agreed to see a
counselor with me.

We began asking around, and someone from the Cowboys recommended a counselor. It
turned out to be a complete waste of time — the man seemed bored in the session,
and I swore there were times he actually dozed off. We went to two sessions and
then quit. Things were pretty good between us again, so it didn't seem like we even
needed a counselor. Plus, Nate was more open to church now, though he had still not
given his life to Christ. But he sometimes spoke with ministers and seemed to be
making positive changes in his behavior. I was happy that things were calm and that
he seemed to be making progress, but I remained uneasy. I couldn't relax. I had given
up hope that things would ever really be permanently good. I was always waiting for
something bad to happen.