Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (24 page)

“Women are just weird. Why do they always think they’re pregnant?” Derrick asked. “You’re a moron. Maybe because women usually end up pregnant at some point! Trust me, I am not doing this for fun. It’s the last thing I want to do, but the CASA worker said some weird thing to me at the last visit I had, and I haven’t had my period in a while. It’s probably just because I’m so stressed.” Everything just has to be a nightmare. “I don’t know how this curse will ever end!” Derrick laughed. That was very typical of him. If he didn’t know how to react to something, he would laugh, even if it were something that was not a laughing matter. I still hear his laugh to this day. It has been over four years since I’ve seen or heard from him and that laugh rings in my head clear as day. Sometimes I hear it in the voices of other people and it scares the crap out of me. Good ole’ post-traumatic stress disorder.

I made Derrick go into the store and buy the test. I was not in the mood to be out in public, and the odds of me running into someone that I knew were about fifty percent in a small-town grocery store. I remember having to cut the corner of an aisle in a hurry a few times when I would see someone that I didn’t want to get stuck talking to for five thousand years. I was not in the mood to see anyone. I couldn’t answer any more of the “How are you?” or “Where are Chloe and Zoe?” questions. Derrick was back in the passenger seat within minutes with the small bag concealing the bringer of good or bad news. I didn’t feel pregnant - I was just had more cramps than usual. I certainly didn’t look pregnant. I was probably at my lowest weight ever, about 108 pounds. Derrick constantly complained, “Your ass is gone! Start eating, bitch!” He had this set idea of how I was supposed to look - right down to the size of my butt.

We pulled in the parking lot of the complex, scanned for any new and unexpected spies, like my dad or maybe a detective. It was clear. I walked through the door and up the stairs to sit and stare at the pregnancy test and determine if I wanted to even take it. Why the hell am I so freaking fertile, I was thinking to myself. I sprawled out on my bed after changing into my pajamas and opened the box to read the directions. It was common sense, but I wanted to put if off for a little while longer. I didn’t know what difference it would even make if I found out I was pregnant, but I would probably have to stop taking my anti-depressant.

Being with Derrick didn’t make me any happier. It just made me feel less alone. He was actually pretty miserable to be around at that point. He was his same lazy self. He bossed me around and only offered comfort when I was having a major meltdown. “What the hell are you doing up there?” he yelled from below. I sighed and walked into the bathroom with the pregnancy test. Here I was with another pregnancy test. This could be some serious Jerry Springer stuff. I was still only eighteen.

I took the test and set it on the bathroom counter. I fixed my hair and washed my face. My adrenaline was pumping. I didn’t want to look at it. I took a deep breath and glanced down. The second line was as blue as it could possibly be. It was even darker than the confirmation line. Yep, I was knocked up…again! I opened the bathroom door and yelled down the stairs. “Derrick! Come to the bottom of the stairs.” He walked over. I threw the test down to him and walked back into my bedroom. He came up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Oh, thank God it’s negative!” he said. What a complete moron. “Uh, no Derrick, it’s not negative.” I bluntly replied. “But the line is a negative line. Isn’t it supposed to be a plus sign?” he dumbly asked. I explained to him how the test worked. “Oh shit, really?” he said, with a tone of excitement. “I’ve always wanted a kid. I didn’t think I would end up having any. Cool.” I didn’t get where his excitement was coming from. This wasn’t a good thing at all. It was actually the worst thing that could be happening because the Family Court determined he was responsible for the injury to Zoe. If the Detectives didn’t solve the case, and I didn’t get the girls back, they would take this baby too. I couldn’t fathom the thought - it was just too much.

“Derrick, they will take this baby if the case doesn’t get solved. What are we going to do?” I asked, completely stressed out. “We’ll just get the outta here,” he replied. “Yeah, how is that going to work? I have to stay here to fight for Chloe and Zoe. If I leave there is no way I would ever have a chance!” I angrily replied. “Look, just calm down. We will figure it out. We always do. If you just do everything that the Court tells you to do, they have to give the girls back,” he said. I just sighed and shook my head. He didn’t get it. Life was not going to be easy as long as we were together. He hugged me and tried to convince me that it would all work out. Eventually, I believed him. He would have made a great Attorney. He convinced me of the most ridiculous and unrealistic ideas every time. We decided that I would deny and hide my pregnancy for as long as possible. No one could know about this - not even my family.

I was speaking to my mom on the phone a little more as time went on. Sometimes I got annoyed with her. “Liz, you need to be prepared for someone to pay for what happened to Zoe. If they can’t figure it out, they are going to put all of it on you. They have to hold someone responsible, and it doesn’t look like they know what happened or whose to blame. I know that you would never hurt the girls, but they don’t know that. If they did, they wouldn’t care anyway. I am not trying to scare you, but I want you to be prepared if they try to take you to jail.” She would say things like this frequently. I think that she wanted me to expect the worst because she knew how badly I was already hurting. She didn’t want me to be driven mad if I did go to jail. “I understand what you’re saying, but they can’t arrest me because I am not the one who did it! They will never find evidence to say I did because it’s not there,” I would often respond. The only thing that they could get me for was using drugs when I was caring for my girls, and if they were going to do that, it would have happened already. As far as I was concerned, they weren’t going to arrest me because they were focusing on arresting the real perpetrator. I prayed she wasn’t right.

When I got home from work a few days later and there was an eviction notice on my door with the Sheriff’s stamp on it. This was a real eviction order. We had to be out in thirty days. I was pretty worried about this but honestly wanted to get out of that place anyway. It was too sad and the girl’s room was just empty. It had all of their toys and clothes, but the empty feeling made me sad every time I passed the door. I was miserable and quitting smoking sucked. I knew that it was not worth the risk to my unborn baby. Drugs and alcohol were out of the picture, for both Derrick and I, when we found out that I was pregnant. As far as I could tell, Derrick really was clean. I was a little surprised, but thankful.

As time went on, I started feeling like the Court was distancing me from them as much as they could. My visits were only once every two weeks and the Social Workers never talked about or implied anything in regards to reuniting me with my daughters. The Court and Social Workers all had their own plans; they just had to legally wait to go through the time period required before they could do anything permanent. I held on to the idea that the girls would eventually come home. Deep down, I felt our world was fading and we were getting further and further apart. I resumed my life as best as I could because if I let myself stay heartbroken, I wouldn’t live through it. I could not survive the pain if I didn’t block it out, just as a person could not survive half of their heart being sliced out and stitched back in just once in a while.

We had to come up with the cash to move, so I started working. I got a full time job with a maid service. I had fun working with them. I drove around town with my co-workers cleaning some of the most beautiful homes that Tahoe had to offer. I didn’t tell anyone about my pregnancy because I knew it was just temporary. Luckily, my phlebotomy course was at night, so I was able to manage both for the time being. I loved the class, and I was almost ready to start my internship. Derrick worked at a car maintenance place, and we traded in my car for a white jeep. We didn’t trade it in for the typical reasons. Every single time I drove down the highway, if Derrick was with me I was pulled over. The cops gave me all sorts of reasons, but I knew that they wanted to catch one of us doing something illegal. They wanted a reason to arrest us. Despite the cops searching my car and never finding anything, I was still being pulled over for “not signaling” or “coming to a full stop.” I knew that this was bullshit. I was sick of it.

When we finally had enough money to move, we found a tiny studio about ten minutes down the highway. It was in a small complex of about eight units. We called the number on the “for rent” sign, and the lady managing the place, Betsy, met us about thirty minutes later. I didn’t know what I would do with all of my furniture, or the girl’s stuff, but it would have to work.  Of course, we did not tell Betsy about our situation because no person in their right mind would rent to us if they knew. She was really nice and she let us sign the lease agreement right there. We paid the deposit and scheduled the move to be a few days ahead. We decided that the only place to store all of the furniture would be in an abandoned house that was on the same property as Donnie’s house. I had seen Donnie only a few times since the incident. I avoided him as much as I could - partially because he could have been the one who assaulted my daughter and partially because he was still with Megan. I was still angry with her. I still felt incredibly betrayed and hurt, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same between us. I had depended on her for a lot more than she understood or even I understood at that time. I needed her to grab me and shake me. I needed her help understanding the severity and importance of standing my ground and entirely eliminating the losers from my life and not going back to them.

She couldn’t help me. She was doing the same exact thing. Somehow, I was the bad person. Every person involved was innocent but me according to the community. I had anger building up every day. The night that we put the furniture in our “storage,” I had a voice message on my cell phone. It was a young, female voice that I thought sounded familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint who it was. “I think it’s pretty hilarious that your daughter was assaulted!” she yelled. That was all that the message said. I didn’t understand what the statement was meant to do to me. Why would someone think that something so terrible would be hilarious, especially to a child? I was sickened, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. It came from a private number, and I couldn’t put a name to the voice. It’s probably a good thing that I did not know who it was because I would have ended up going to jail over a serious attack.

It was one thing to say horrible things about me. People needed something to talk about and because they didn’t have answers, they made them up. I didn’t like it, but I could handle it. What I could not handle was when my baby girl was brought into the rumors. She needed to be left out because nothing was ever her fault. It was like adding to her trauma. I hated these people.

On a weekend when Derrick was off work, we moved into our tiny studio. We were able to bring our bed, big couch, television set, and the basic necessities. We didn’t have enough money to get the gas turned on right away, so we were stuck with freezing cold water and using a microwave for every meal.

Derrick went to work every morning, and my phlebotomy internship was starting. I was really excited and hoping that it would be a good way to support myself financially and show the Court that I wasn’t the loser that they assumed I was. I had a few friends taking the course with me, and I don’t think that they had heard any of the rumors about me because they didn’t bring anything up. This was a relief because I just wanted to be treated for who I was and not what I went through. My first day at the hospital was nerve wracking. They pretty much made it clear that the only way to really learn how to draw blood was to just do it. I didn’t want to hurt anyone so our group decided to practice on each other first. I was really afraid to let a rookie stab me for the first time but luckily my veins were prominent so they didn’t have to search too far. The girl did a good job and I could finally relax. I did a good job on her too, and the nurse supervising us gave me frequent compliments.

Over the next few days I started to get the hang of it. I was the most nervous in the newborn unit because I really did not want to make a baby cry. When the procedure was done, I was glad. I hoped that I wouldn’t be called back to that part of the hospital again. It was too sad but, at the same time, going into the newborn area started to get me a little more excited about my baby. Everything flashed back, and I remembered how precious it was when Chloe and Zoe were born. My feelings were quickly squelched; I was in training and I had to be professional.

After my internship that day Derrick came home. I was starting to become irritated that the detectives hadn’t returned my computer to me, which was withheld as evidence when Derrick stole it. They had it for a couple of months now, and I needed it back to do homework and to kill time when I was stuck in the tiny studio on my days off. I called the police department and asked them what I needed to do. They said that they needed both Derrick and I to come in and sign for it because the Judge never determined whose it was. Derrick tried to say that he paid for half of it, but he failed to mention that I paid him back the next day. I wanted it to be officially mine because I don’t like sharing. The hours for releasing evidence were almost over for the day so I didn’t have time to change out of my scrubs. They were good at hiding my pregnancy anyway. I was three months and probably going to really start showing any day.

We walked into the lobby and waited for the computer. As we were waiting, the detective that I hated the most poked his head out of the door. He was short and fat and the most obnoxious person I had ever come into contact with. “Hey Ms. Jeter! Can I talk to you for a minute?” There was no way in hell that I was going to be put through another interrogation. Over my dead body! “Only if Derrick can come with me,” I firmly replied. “I’m sorry, but I know how you guys work, and I don’t feel that you have good or helpful intentions.” He shook his head and closed the door. I didn’t know what that was all about, but it worried me. What did they want now? I had nothing new to tell them. I told them everything that I could think of, plus more. I noticed that before he closed the door he was staring at my name badge - he was for sure trying to read it.