American Outlaw - Jesse James [112]
After the wedding, Sandy moved into the house on Sunset Beach, the one I’d purchased to live in with Janine. My kids had been living with me full-time throughout the divorce, but suddenly there was a new addition to the family.
Sandy was calm and responsible—probably more responsible than I was. And she had always gotten along well with my kids when she’d spent time with them before. Granted, that wasn’t the same as living in the same house, but as it turned out, I was right. Sandy took to being a mom like a fish to water.
“So, what are you studying in school this week?”
“Division,” Jesse Jr. said.
“What do you think of it so far?” Sandy asked with a smile.
“Oh, I hate it.”
“I used to be pretty good at math when I was your age. Would you like some help?”
“Nah, that’s okay,” Jesse Jr. said, unzipping his book bag. “It’s really dumb.”
“Math can be pretty boring,” Sandy agreed. “But tell you what, let’s see if we can make it a little more fun, okay?”
I liked watching her with my kids. She spoke to them with respect and interest: not like they were tiny adults, but as if they were simply people younger than her, whose opinions were as valid and interesting as anyone else’s. And Sandy just breathed organization and structure. By this point, I was one hundred percent dedicated to being a dad, but my dedication manifested itself in a formless kind of devotion and love. I didn’t really know exactly how to do things like find them the best schools or after-school programs. Sandy was the polar opposite: she studied the school districts, and took it upon herself to see what opportunities were available for Chandler and Jesse Jr. Before long, my kids were very fond of her. They trusted her.
During this period, my only real contact with Janine was financial. I was sending her $15,000 each month for child support.
“That’s quite a sum,” Sandy remarked.
“I’m okay with it,” I told her. “This way, at least I know my daughter’s needs are paid for.”
But before too many months had elapsed, I realized this wasn’t necessarily so. One morning, I received a phone call from one of Janine’s old boyfriends, a guy I’d become friends with after the breakup. We sympathized with each other and traded war stories. He’d maintained communication and a kind of friendship with Janine, and now, he informed me, all was not well in my ex-wife’s world.
“She’s living in Oregon nowadays, man.”
“I know,” I said. “Kinda weird. I didn’t even know she knew anyone up there.”
“I’m not sure she’s being real social, exactly,” he said. “From what I can tell, she’s always holed up in this house she just bought, man. She never leaves, like, ever. I’m pretty sure she’s doing drugs.”
I felt sick inside.
“She’s been in a bad space,” he continued. “That’s why I called. She’s not doing the mom thing right, I can tell you that much.”
After hanging up the phone, I let the news sink in for a moment. It had been pretty ridiculous of me to think she was capable of being a responsible parent to my daughter. I’d hoped that I could somehow ensure my child’s safety by simply sending a big check every month, but that had just been a pipe dream. I made up my mind: I wanted custody of Sunny.
Like everything legal, our custody battle was long, tedious, difficult, expensive, and frustrating. Sandy was totally supportive of me in the process. She realized that it was my child and in the end, my decision, but there was no question about it, she wanted Sunny in our household as much as I did.
“This blows,” I told her, discouraged, during one of the more difficult moments, when it felt like the case would never unfold or change. “Sometimes I just want to fucking give up, you know?”
“I understand,” Sandy said. “But it sounds like your daughter’s not growing up in a safe home. I can’t think of anything more important to focus your energy on.”
It was almost like Sandy understood me more than she let on. I know that when she looked at me, she could see the neglect and abuse that I’d gone through. I don’t know whether she realized that, in a certain way,