Deanie Kessler answered, “Those who will, will, and those who won’t have their own issues. Stefan’s won’t be the only story that’s featured. The series is about the issues that face people reentering the community after incarceration. We’ll focus on four individuals over the two hours, Stefan, two young women and one very successful older man.”

The series was called In Our Times. It was about people who found themselves in the middle of hot-button social topics. Previous episodes centered around hometown racism, animal activists and the crisis facing the family farm.

To his credit, Stefan had set stern guidelines: The story was to highlight Stefan’s rehabilitation efforts and The Healing Project. It was not to be about his own case or dig deeper into the night of the murder; it was to be about the process of trying to reclaim his life. The show would comprise interviews with us in our home, or on a walk in the arboretum, in comfortable places, not in front of an audience. Deanie Kessler agreed to all the conditions.

The day approached. I got more and more tense. I thought of my university colleagues. I thought of members of my book club. It wasn’t as though they didn’t know what had happened, at least that Stefan had been released. But I knew there were people who would think he was trying to make excuses for his conduct or to distract from his crime. I knew there were people who might think the same things about me. And yet, if they were going to gossip, let them. I couldn’t stop them, and, with everything else I had to worry about, there was no room for further unproductive stewing.

The night before, I asked Stefan again, “Do you really want me to be part of this? It’s not my story.”

“Well, it is partly your story, too, Mom. I would like you to, but it’s not essential.” Too quietly, he reminded me that I didn’t have to defend him. I reminded him, in turn, that it would be myself I was defending; and he pointed out that I didn’t have to do that, either.

Jep, who disapproved of the whole thing, went upstairs to finish packing, tossing back over his shoulder that he was grateful he would be out of town and not to let anyone photograph his hip-high pile of old jerseys that he kept on the floor of our walk-in closet and kept insisting had “plenty of life left in them.”

Deanie Kessler emailed us a sheet of tips for looking and feeling comfortable on camera.

For probably the first time in ten years, I overslept.