Though Ivey has one previous conviction for a nonviolent crime, Beskind said, the district attorney could also point out that she remained in a relationship with someone who does as evidence that she was somehow a negligent parent.
“They do that all the time,” she said. “I think we judge women very harshly by that standard.”
And while it’s unknown what the legal outcomes for Ivey and Jenkins will be, what is certain is that their lives were all changed in a single moment.
To Renea, what happened is clear: “It was a horrible, horrible accident. That’s it.”
The ripple effect of the tragedy
After the accident, the children have dispersed to the care of relatives. Jessica’s mother has taken in the oldest child, the 10-year-old who was with Legend when he was struck and killed. The five other children, ages 5 months to 6 years old, are with Jenkins’ parents, Renea and Kenny.
Now, Renea and Kenny’s red brick home at the corner of a neat, orderly street is full. The kids’ energy consumes the place. In the family room, a playpen sits in front of the fireplace. Above it, cartoons play on a flat-screen television. Across the room is a baby seat.
The refrigerator, which used to be replete with leftovers from dining out, has baby formula in it. On the back deck, the siblings blow bubbles.
Renea took an indefinite leave of absence from two part-time jobs. Kenny is the family patriarch, an understated man who would rather stay in the background. He works the afternoon shift at a trucking company, a welcome distraction from a reality that pains him.
“The job is kind of a break,” Kenny said. “It gives me some time to not think about all of this.”
Their two other children, who live in Washington state, came home as soon as they got the news. Their daughters, Michelle and Makalah, and their friends visit frequently to help with the kids.
“My support system makes me proud,” Jenkins said. “I know they are going through it like me. But they are there for us.”
Michelle, a mother of two, accepts calls from her sister-in-law multiple times daily. At 9 p.m. most nights, she merges calls from Ivey and Jenkins so they can speak to each other. They are in the same jail; he’s downstairs, she’s upstairs.
“You can hear the pain in their voices,” Michelle said. “Jessica is trying to be optimistic for the rest of the children. Being away from them is tough on her mental well-being, though.”
Ivey said that to prevent the older kids from worrying about her, she has told them she’s in the hospital.
“I’ve never been away from them more than a night,” she said. “So I’m missing my children and husband, and we lost our son. My head is spinning. I can’t even grieve.”
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