“I…of course not. I love him. You never stop loving your child.”
The final segment featuring me would last about eight minutes. The whole time the crew of In Our Times spent at our house comprised about eight hours, which felt like eight years. Finally, as I was watching the crew pack their gear and leave, they waved to the protestors, who waved back. Exhausted, I retreated upstairs to my bedroom.
Early one evening a couple of weeks later, I was in that bedroom again with my sister Amelia and Julie. We lay three across on my bed in a row, relaxed as kindling in a box, and watched the segment. Downstairs, Stefan and Jep watched the show with Amelia’s husband, Andy.
Why was I surprised to discover they had interviewed Jill?
I should not have been surprised.
Why was I surprised when a third of our segment was devoted to her contention that the community was in danger when violent offenders were released, and that was why the work of SAY was more important than ever? Why was I surprised when she said that Belinda chose to go to college in Black Creek yes, in a youthful rebellion against her strict Southern Baptist upbringing, but also to escape Stefan’s increasingly controlling behavior?
Dating violence wasn’t even considered domestic abuse in some states, she said, and it was rarely reported—like rape a couple of generations ago. Jill’s organization had grown and now hosted events at high schools and colleges. There was now a phone network, staffed by girls for girls, to say, yes, what you’re going through is wrong and it has to stop. If Belinda could have spoken about what she was going through, Jill said, she might still be alive today. “I’m really proud of the young women of SAY. They’re strong and beautiful. There are more than seven thousand SAY volunteers around the country, including some young men, because they get abused as well. If Belinda could see this, she would be so gratified. I hope she can see it.”
Belinda never used drugs, Jill added. She understood why Stefan was suddenly offering to support SAY, but clearly, that would be inappropriate. Offenders like Stefan should not be allowed to come back to the places they lived before.
“But what if their support system is there?” said the host. “That’s so key to staying on the right path.”
Jill shrugged.
“Protecting the innocent comes first,” she said. “Our whole society has failed to protect the innocent, and so our whole society has failed.”
Chopin’s “Nocturne in C Sharp Minor” accompanied a photo montage—a family Christmas before Belinda’s father died, Jill and Belinda on a dock kicking droplets of water into the air, Stefan and Belinda swing-dancing, Jill majestic in black lace at Belinda’s funeral, SAY protestors circling the state capitol, Jill unfurling a petition of thousands of names, then a photo of Jep and Stefan, forehead to forehead through the open car window the night he came home—the picketers and TV cameras a smeared traffic of light in the background…and the last one, of Stefan and Will in April on the golf course at Nine Springs.
Who had taken that? Who had been watching Stefan swing a golf club?
Amelia winced. She said, “Now that’s subtle.”
There was also a photo montage of our family, and I had no idea where those pictures had come from—of Stefan playing with Molly when Molly was a puppy, Belinda and Stefan dressed as playing cards for a school party, Stefan and Jep after a football game. Stefan’s edited account of his time since prison sounded authentic, and even Maggie Slaney gave him credit for his effort with The Healing Project.
My own words closed our portion of the show: “A person has to be seen as more than the worst thing he has ever done.”
Julie said, “I thought Stefan did just great. You too.”
“I hope something good comes from it,” I told her. “Or at least, I hope nothing bad comes from it.”
We listened to the guys rattling around downstairs, the refrigerator opening and closing, a muffled laugh from Andy. We ventured quietly downstairs.
“…like watching a train wreck,” Jep said.
“Not him, though,” Andy said. “I was proud of him. He was direct and honest.”
I stepped down into the kitchen, where all of them were eating slices of pastrami out of the butcher’s wrapping, first dipping the slices in a saucer of mustard. If anyone felt a lack of composure, it wasn’t evident from their food consumption. “I was the one who looked like a train wreck?”
“They meant Jill, listening to Jill, and I know what Dad means. It just rolls right over anything you have to say because she has the moral imperative,” Stefan said.