THE CAMERA IN THE CORNER
“Is there a camera?” Vivian asks.
Her mouth stays open after the words come out. She turns toward the corner, then back to me.
Elaine keeps one hand on Sophie’s back. With the other, she reaches for the bag she dropped in the doorway.
“Don’t move,” she tells me.
I stay on the floor. Sand is caught in the folds of my black work trousers, and the metal buckle of my tool belt presses against my side.
“Take Sophie out of here,” I say. “There’s sand all over the rug.”
Elaine looks down at her daughter’s bare feet. She shifts Sophie higher against her shoulder and steps clear of the spill.
Vivian pulls her gallery badge straight. “Elaine, I saw him. He was right over her.”
“You saw me trying to catch it,” I say.
“You were holding it.”
I point at the camera again. “Then let’s look.”
Elaine’s eyes follow my hand. The camera is fixed above a shelf in the corner, its little white housing turned toward the prop table. A power cable runs along the wall and disappears behind a stack of folded flats.
“What does that record?” she asks.
“Work footage,” I say. “The prop table and the area around it. Stage management uses it to check where things were left.”
Vivian steps toward the wall. “It may not even be on.”
“Leave it,” Elaine says.
Vivian stops. Sophie has buried her face against Elaine’s neck, but her small hand keeps opening and closing on the knit fabric.
I push myself onto one elbow. Elaine looks at me, and I stop moving.
“I need to get up,” I say. “My belt’s caught under me.”
She doesn’t answer. I roll carefully onto my side, free the belt, and stand. My cheek is hot where her hand struck it.
Elaine pulls her phone from the bag. “Who has the recording?”
“Stage management,” I say. “Their desk is through that door and down the hall.”
Vivian folds her arms. “This is ridiculous. He could have moved the camera afterward.”
“It’s mounted above the shelf,” I say. “You can see it from here.”
“I’m calling,” Elaine says.
She puts the phone to her ear and turns partly away from us. I hear her ask for the stage manager, then tell someone there’s been an accident backstage and she needs the work-camera footage kept.
Vivian takes a step toward her.
“Elaine, please. Sophie needs checking first.”
“She does,” Elaine says. “And the footage needs saving.”
Sophie lifts her head. There’s a streak of sand across one calf. Elaine brushes it away with the edge of her sleeve, then listens to the person on the phone.
“He’s coming?” she asks. “All right. We’re by the prop table.”
She ends the call and looks at me.
“Did the bag hit her?”
“No. It landed beside her.”
“You’re sure?”
“I saw it hit the floor.”
Elaine looks at Sophie’s legs, then pulls the romper gently aside to check her shoulder. Sophie protests and twists in her arms.
Vivian crouches beside the prop rug. “There’s a mark here,” she says, pointing at the floor. “Look how close it was.”
The sandbag lies split beside the mark, its stiff, packed contents broken apart across the boards. One corner of the rug is buried. I can still see where Sophie had been sitting, the shape of her little heel pressed into a thin scatter of sand.
“Don’t touch it,” I say.
Vivian rises. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Then Elaine can.”
Elaine moves between Vivian and the rug. “Don’t touch it.”
Footsteps hurry down the hall. The stage manager comes through the door carrying a tablet, with a ring of keys hooked over one finger. Elaine tells him what she told the person on the phone.
“Can you save what happened?” she asks.
He looks at the sand, then at Sophie. “Yes. I’ll make a copy before we do anything else.”
Vivian gestures toward me. “He was alone with her when I found him.”
I look at her. “You were holding the bag when I came around the table.”
The stage manager raises a hand. “Let me get the recording.”
He sets the tablet on a clear end of the prop table and taps through the work-camera system. The screen shows the table from above, the rug below it, and the edge of the stage door.
Elaine comes closer but keeps Sophie in her arms. I stay where I am.
The stage manager checks the time on his phone, drags a marker backward, and taps the screen. Sophie appears on the rug, kicking her feet. Vivian is beside her. The picture has no sound.
“Wait,” Vivian says. “I want to explain what you’re looking at.”
“Let it play,” Elaine says.
On the screen, Vivian bends over Sophie. Her arms reach down toward the sandbag. Then she lifts it, gripping one end in each hand.
Elaine leans forward. Her fingers tighten against Sophie’s romper.
I appear at the edge of the picture, running around the prop table. Vivian turns toward me. The sandbag leaves her hands. I dive, and the bag strikes the floor beside the rug.
The stage manager pauses the recording.
For a moment, the only sound is Sophie snuffling against her mother’s shoulder.
Vivian reaches for the tablet. “Go back. You can’t see what happened before that.”
The stage manager pulls it toward himself. “I’ve saved the clip. I can save more of the recording too.”
“Do it,” Elaine says.
Vivian’s hand drops. “She wouldn’t stop crying. I picked up the bag to move it away from her, and he startled me.”
Elaine looks from the screen to Vivian. “You lifted it over her.”
“I was moving it.”
“You pointed at him and told me he did it.”
Vivian opens her mouth, then looks at me. “Pavel was there when it fell.”
“He ran in,” Elaine says. She taps the frozen image of my outstretched arms. “You watched him run in.”
Sophie starts fussing again. Elaine rocks once on her heels and pats her back, but keeps her eyes on Vivian.
The stage manager takes the tablet off the table. “I’m going to send the recording to the theater office and keep this copy.”
“Send it to me too,” Elaine says.
Vivian shakes her head. “You don’t need to do that. Sophie isn’t hurt.”
Elaine turns Sophie carefully so she can look at her face. “I’m taking her to be checked.”
“I’ll come with you,” Vivian says.
“No.”
The word lands sharply enough that Sophie blinks. Elaine lowers her voice.
“You’re not coming with us.”
Vivian takes hold of her badge, rubbing its edge with her thumb. “Elaine, I’ve worked with your family for years.”
“I left her with you for five minutes.”
“The bag slipped.”
“And then you lied.”
Vivian lets the badge fall against her dress. She looks toward the stage door, but the stage manager is standing beside it.
Elaine picks up Sophie’s bag and holds it out to me. I take it, keeping my hand away from hers.
“Will you carry that to the car?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She hesitates. “I slapped you.”
I touch my cheek. “You did.”
“I saw Sophie on the floor, and Vivian said—” Elaine stops. She shifts the baby to her other shoulder. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”
I nod. The bag’s strap is twisted around my hand; I straighten it and lift it onto my shoulder.
The stage manager tells Elaine he’ll preserve the footage and report what happened to the theater office. She gives him her number. Vivian asks whether she can have a copy, and he tells her to speak to the office.
We start toward the stage door. At the threshold, Elaine stops and turns back.
“Vivian, stay away from Sophie.”
Vivian doesn’t answer. Her badge swings once as she steps aside.
In the hall, Elaine checks Sophie again under the brighter lights. The baby reaches for the strap of her bag, and I bring it close enough for her to catch. She holds on while we walk.
At the outside door, Elaine pauses with her hand on the bar. “Will you tell them what you saw?”
“Yes.”
“My phone may be full of calls later. Can I give the theater your number?”
I take a pen from the loop on my tool belt and write it on the back of a receipt from Sophie’s bag. Elaine folds the receipt into her pocket.
Outside, she settles Sophie into her car seat and checks the straps twice. I put the bag on the passenger seat.
Before closing the door, Elaine takes out her phone. The stage manager has sent the clip. She watches it once without sound, then calls the theater office and asks them not to let Vivian back into the backstage area while they review it.
I wait beside the car. When Elaine finishes, she shuts the passenger door, walks around to the driver’s seat, and drives Sophie away.
