THE LIGHT ON THE WALL
Helena turned toward the wall.
“Is that recording?” she asked.
Her hand went to the front of her charcoal suit. She pinched the lapel between two fingers and let it go.
James looked at the smart display, then back at Rose. “Lena, get away from her.”
“I’m already away from her.” My voice scraped. I put one rubber-gloved hand on the floor and tried to sit up straighter. “Please pick her up.”
He crossed the sand-covered rug and crouched. Rose reached for him, her soft curls damp against her forehead. He lifted her against his grey polo, checking her arms and bare feet. She pressed her face into his shoulder and kept crying.
“Is she hurt?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“There was sand on her romper. I didn’t see the bag hit her.”
“You didn’t see?” Helena said. “You dropped it.”
I looked up at her. “You had it over her head.”
James’s eyes snapped toward Helena. “What?”
“She’s lying.” Helena took a step back from the rug. “I came in and found her carrying that thing. Rose was crying. Lena lost her grip, and you walked in.”
“That’s not what happened,” I said.
James held Rose tighter. “I heard something break from the hallway.”
“The sandbag,” I said. “It fell beside her.”
He looked down at the split bag and the sand scattered across the prop rug. A piece of its stiff outer shell lay against the leg of the prop table. I could still feel the weight of it missing my gloves as I dove.
“I came when we agreed,” James said. “Helena texted me to use the stage door.”
I remembered Helena typing on her phone before she came backstage. She had told me James was due any minute and that I should keep Rose quiet until he arrived.
“He did come when you said,” I told her.
Helena ignored me. “James, take Rose out of here. I’ll deal with this.”
She reached for her phone on the prop table.
“Wait,” I said. “The display.”
“It’s just a screen.” She picked up her phone. “It might not have recorded anything.”
“Then check,” James said.
Helena’s thumb stopped moving.
I got one knee beneath me. My hip protested, and I caught the edge of the prop table. A rubber glove squeaked against the wood.
James glanced at my face. The red mark from his hand must have been coming up by then, because he looked away quickly.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He didn’t offer his hand. I used the table and got up by myself.
Rose had stopped crying, though she still made small catches in her breath. James shifted her higher on his shoulder.
“Call someone who knows how that thing works,” he said to Helena.
“I know how it works.”
“Then show me.”
Helena walked to the display. Its camera light was still on, a tiny bright dot above the screen. She touched the glass once, then again. A menu appeared.
I stayed by the prop table. There was sand inside my left glove, rubbing between my fingers. I pulled the glove off and set it beside the rag I’d dropped.
Helena opened a folder, stared at it, and closed it.
“What was that?” James asked.
“Old footage.”
“Open it again.”
She turned toward him. “You’re holding a one-year-old who may need a doctor. We can deal with this later.”
James looked down at Rose. He brushed sand from her romper, then ran his hand gently along her back.
“I’m taking her to get checked,” he said. “But first, open it.”
Helena’s phone buzzed in her hand. She silenced it without looking.
“James,” she said, “you know me.”
“Open it.”
She touched the folder again. Rows of recordings appeared on the screen, each marked with a time. I saw the current date and the last few minutes listed at the top.
“That one,” I said.
Helena selected it.
The picture showed the backstage area from above: hanging ropes along one side, the prop table beneath them, the red curtain and the edge of the stage glow beyond. Rose was visible on the rug.
There was no sound at first. Helena touched another control.
My own voice came out of the display, thin and tinny. I was somewhere off camera, asking whether James had arrived.
On screen, Helena stood beside Rose. She bent down and picked up the sandbag.
“Stop it,” she said to the baby.
Rose cried louder.
The Helena in the recording lifted the sandbag high above her. “Shut up!”
Beside me, James went very still.
I saw myself run into the picture, my green uniform bright under the dim work lights.
“Put her down!” the recording shouted.
I dove with both arms out. The sandbag slipped from Helena’s hands and fell. It struck beside Rose and shattered, throwing sand across the rug.
James appeared in the stage door a moment later, just as he had in life. His face was turned toward me as Helena pointed down.
“She did it!”
Helena lunged for the display. James caught her wrist before she could touch it.
“Don’t,” he said.
The recording kept playing. On screen, James pulled me up and slapped me. I fell out of the camera’s view.
He let go of Helena’s wrist. Rose stirred against his shoulder.
“Turn it off,” he said.
Helena reached for the screen.
“Not you.” James looked at me. “Lena, will you pause it?”
I crossed to the wall. My hand shook, so I used one finger and pressed the symbol at the bottom of the display. The picture stopped on James standing over the place where I’d fallen.
For a moment, nobody spoke. From the stage came the hollow scrape of scenery being moved.
Then Helena said, “I wasn’t going to drop it.”
James stared at her. “You held it over her.”
“I was trying to frighten Lena. She left the baby here crying.”
“You told me to watch Rose,” I said. “You said you’d be back in a minute.”
Helena turned to me. “You work for me.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
She looked at the paused image. “We can sort this out privately.”
James took his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
“James, think about what that will do to the theater.”
He stepped away from her and made the call. He gave the address, then said, “My daughter’s one year old. A heavy sandbag was dropped beside her. I didn’t see it happen, but there’s a recording.”
He listened, looking at Rose.
“Yes,” he said. “Please send an ambulance too.”
Helena pulled a chair from the prop table and sat down. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and smoothed the front of her suit.
James ended the call. “They’re coming.”
Rose reached for the collar of his polo and tugged it into her mouth. He eased it free and kissed her curls.
I took off my other glove. The skin beneath it was damp and wrinkled. I wanted to wash my hands, but the sink was down the corridor, and I didn’t want to leave Helena alone with the display.
“Does anyone else have access to that?” James asked me.
“The theater office might. I’ve only ever seen Helena use it.”
He looked at her. “Can the recording be deleted?”
Helena didn’t answer.
“Can it?”
“Yes.”
“Then step away from it.”
“I’m sitting down.”
“Stay there.”
I found my headscarf on the floor beside the rug. Sand had settled into its folds. I shook it once and tied it back over my hair.
James watched me. “Lena, I’m sorry.”
I kept the ends of the scarf in my hands.
“I should have listened,” he said. “I should never have hit you.”
“No,” I said. “You shouldn’t have.”
He nodded. He didn’t ask me to make it easier for him.
A knock sounded at the stage door. James called out, and two paramedics came in carrying bags. One checked Rose while the other asked James what had happened. Rose objected loudly when the paramedic touched her foot, then quieted when James offered her his finger.
I moved the prop table back to give them room. A police officer arrived soon after and asked who had called.
“I did,” James said.
The officer looked at the sandbag, then at Helena and me. “Who can tell me what happened?”
“I can,” I said.
I showed him the paused display. He watched the recording once, then asked us not to touch the screen. Another officer took Helena’s phone and asked her to come into the corridor.
As she passed me, Helena stopped.
“Your shift isn’t over,” she said.
The officer turned toward her. She walked out without another word.
A paramedic wrapped a small cold pack in a cloth and offered it to me. I held it against my cheek while the other finished checking Rose. They wanted James to take her to the hospital for a closer examination. He gathered her romper around her legs and thanked them.
At the door, he looked back at me. “Will you be all right getting home?”
“I’ll call my sister,” I said.
He hesitated, then carried Rose out with the paramedics.
I stayed to give my statement. When the officer finished taking notes, he asked whether I could come to the station later if they needed anything else.
“Yes,” I said.
The theater had grown quiet. The sand was still spread across the prop rug, and my two gloves lay on the table beside the cleaning rag.
I picked up my gloves, took the staff key from my pocket and set it on the prop table. Then I called my sister to come and get me.
