“I thought, the more people she met, the more just stupid I would seem. I couldn’t think of her with someone else. I would have waited forever for her. But I was losing her. And my reaction was, I was putting pressure on her to stay with me.”
“Did she say it was over?”
“No, but she needed a chance to see who she really wanted to be.” Like all good interviewers, Deanie Kessler knew that sometimes, it was just better to wait, because people will plunge in to fill the silence. “She was my best friend. We loved each other enough that we figured that we could work everything out somehow and get married anyhow and have a family. She wanted that, too. I had to let her find herself.”
“But you couldn’t.”
Stefan roughly struck tears from his cheekbones with the heels of his hands. “I could sense that she was with someone else.”
“An older boy?”
“No, not that. It was a girl. I knew that Belinda was bisexual, but I thought she was just experimenting… I was just a kid. I didn’t know.”
My eyes blurred. The poems snapped into place like a gorgeous Scrabble word, like quickly or maximize, for which all the parts had been there but not in the right order. Perhaps Longing Esme was never just Belinda’s persona, her alter ego, but a real person, her lover, her muse. So was the Esme of Belinda’s poetry actually the girl caller? The voice who said she knew everything? Was that why she was so scared and so sad? Why would she think that the possibility of Stefan talking about her and Belinda would mean that nobody would love her anymore? In this day and age? Did the girl’s parents not know, as I had to believe that Jill had not known? As I had not? Was that all there was to it? If so, why all the threats to our son’s welfare? Sadness and fear didn’t square up with repeated warnings about Stefan keeping his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. I glanced back at the window, my living room transformed into a sound stage beyond it. So much for keeping his mouth shut.
In that moment, I almost wanted to go find Jill and put my arms around her, gentle, conservative, devout Jill. For her, this show might feel like another loss, a very public wound. All the cats were now out of the bag and rolling around on the carpet.
“What do you want people to know, Stefan?”
Pale, now clearly on the ropes, Stefan took a breath and persevered. “I want people to know that I’m not doing all this just to prove a point. I really want to make a difference in the world, however I can. And I want Belinda’s mother, Jill, to know that I’m against dating violence too, and I will help with the mission of SAY. I’ll talk about raising awareness and how girls can tell if they’re in an abusive relationship.”
“Do you think Belinda should have known?”
Stefan said, “I’m telling a truth that no one will believe. It makes it almost impossible for me to move along in my life. But truly I never abused Belinda.”
Deanie just let Stefan’s words sit there. She didn’t respond. In a moment, she nodded crisply. The segment was over. Stefan took off the mic by himself and went inside.
Now it would be my turn.
Why had I given Stefan her business card? Why had I agreed to this? Why wasn’t Stefan here, encouraging me, like I’d encouraged him?
I was still gasping from Stefan’s revelation about Belinda. And I was shocked at myself for being so shocked.
The crew began by filming me supposedly writing at my desk, then moved quickly to my kitchen table where I had spread out the materials for my upcoming book. Deanie Kessler introduced me, then asked me to explain what the book was about. And I skipped right into a snare: “Women in literature who were obsessed, with men mostly but also with society and the dangerous amusements there, with their reputations…”
As if listening to a simultaneous translator, I reflected on how my words sounded—even as I spoke them.
Great. Just great.
“Don’t use that part about my book,” I told Deanie Kessler.
“Why not? It was really just a warm-up question anyhow but tell me what bothers you about it.”
This was like therapy.
“Nothing,” I said, guaranteeing that the quote would make it past the final edit.
From that moment, every word I said seemed fatuous. I knew my son. I knew that the awful event that happened was an aberration. How? He told me. I knew Stefan was basically a gentle person. He even chose not to play college football because it was too rough.
“Given everything, given what he did to this girl, can you say that your love for your only son has never diminished?”