THE TABLET ON THE PROP TABLE

Her hand reached for it.

“Don’t,” I said.

Dana stopped with her fingers an inch from the tablet. Marco looked from her hand to mine, then bent beside Mia. He lifted her from the rug, brushing sand from her romper with quick, uneven strokes.

“Mia? Sweetheart?” He checked her arms and legs, then pressed his cheek against her curls.

She kept crying, but she wrapped one hand around his collar. He held her closer.

The stage door opened behind him, and a woman in a headset leaned in. “Marco? We’re ready for you.”

“Call the nurse,” he said. “Now.”

The woman took one look at Mia and hurried away.

Dana drew her hand back from the tablet. “I came in and found Nadia holding that bag over her. I tried to stop her.”

I stared at the sand around my knees. “That’s not what happened.”

Marco’s jaw tightened. “You told me to check it. Where’s the recording?”

“On the tablet,” I said. “I set it up for rehearsal.”

Dana folded her arms. “You were supposed to record the stage.”

“I was,” I said. “I put the screen facing out so the director could check the framing from there.”

The camera on the back faced the prop rug. I’d noticed that when I propped it up, but I’d been in a hurry to fetch Mia’s blanket. The red curtain was closed, and the director had said he wanted backstage sound on the recording too.

Marco edged around the scattered sand, keeping Mia against his shoulder. He turned the tablet without taking it off the table. A red recording symbol showed on the screen.

Dana stepped forward. “Marco, the baby needs you. I can deal with—”

“No,” he said.

He stopped the recording and tapped the thumbnail. The video opened on the hanging ropes and the prop rug. Mia sat in the middle of it, patting a wooden spoon against the floor. Dana stood at the edge of the picture, her back half turned to the camera.

Marco pressed play.

For a moment there was only the distant sound of someone testing a microphone. Then Mia began to fuss. Dana picked up the heavy sandbag from beside the prop table.

On the screen, she raised it.

“Shut up!”

Marco’s thumb froze above the screen. He didn’t touch it.

I heard my own flats slap the boards. I came into view, shouting, “Put her down!” My arms flew out as the bag slipped from Dana’s hands.

The recording caught the impact, the burst of sand, and Mia’s cry. It caught me dropping beside her. Then Marco came through the stage door.

Dana pointed.

“She did it!”

The next sound was his hand hitting my face.

Marco stopped the video. Mia had quieted against his shoulder, but her fingers were still knotted in his collar.

Dana moved toward him. “It looks terrible, but the bag slipped. I was moving it away from her.”

“Above her?” I said.

“I didn’t know she was going to crawl over there.”

“She was sitting there before you picked it up.”

Dana looked at the screen. “You can’t hear everything that happened before.”

Marco held the tablet away when she reached for it again.

A nurse came through the stage door carrying a small black bag, followed by the woman with the headset. Marco handed Mia over reluctantly, staying close as the nurse checked her on a clear stretch of floor.

“She should be seen by a doctor,” the nurse said. “I can’t find an injury here, but she’s very young, and I want her checked properly.”

“I’ll take her,” Marco said.

Dana smoothed the front of her black suit. “I’ll bring the car around.”

“No,” Marco said again.

The woman in the headset picked up the tablet. “I’m Lena, the stage manager. Is this the rehearsal recording?”

“Yes,” I said.

Marco turned to her. “Can you keep it somewhere safe?”

Lena looked at the sandbag, then at Dana. “I’ll call the theater manager. Nobody touches it until she gets here.”

Dana’s name badge swung as she turned sharply. “I’m the hotel manager. I’ve been coordinating this event for six months.”

Lena held the tablet against her chest. “And I’m responsible for what happens backstage tonight.”

The theater manager arrived before Marco left. She took one look at my cheek and asked Lena to call the police. Dana began speaking over her, but Marco told her to wait in the lobby.

“I’m not leaving while you accuse me,” Dana said.

He shifted Mia higher against his shoulder. “You’re not coming with us.”

Dana glanced toward me. Her hand went to her bun, checking a pin that hadn’t moved. Then she walked through the stage door, her heels striking each board.

Marco paused beside me. “Nadia—”

The nurse had already opened the door to the corridor. Mia reached one small hand toward the light.

“Go,” I said.

He followed the nurse out.

Lena found my flat under the prop table and set it beside me. I put it on slowly. The side of my face throbbed when I bent down.

“Can you stand?” she asked.

I took her hand. Sand fell from my trousers as I got to my feet.

An hour later, I sat in the theater manager’s office with an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel. The office smelled of coffee and old paint. Through the wall, I could hear a crew rolling scenery across the stage.

A police officer sat opposite me with a notebook. The tablet lay on the desk between us, connected to a charger Lena had found in a drawer.

“Start when you heard Dana shout,” the officer said.

I did. I told her about the sandbag, my dive, and where Mia had been sitting. When I reached the slap, I touched the paper towel to my cheek and had to wait a moment before I could speak.

The officer wrote it down.

“Did Marco see Dana holding the bag?”

“No. He came in after it fell.”

“And the recording?”

“I set it up before rehearsal. The director wanted to check the stage entrance.”

Lena, sitting by the door, nodded. “I asked Nadia to leave it running while we tested the sound.”

The officer made another note. “We’ll need the original file.”

“It’s still on the tablet,” Lena said. “I haven’t sent it to anyone.”

Someone knocked, and the theater manager opened the door. Marco stood there without his jacket. Mia was asleep against him, her cheek resting on his shirt.

“The doctor checked her,” he said. “No injuries. They told me what to watch for tonight.”

I let out a breath and looked at Mia’s bare feet. One rested against the crook of his arm.

The officer stood. “Mr. Marco, I’ll need to speak with you as well.”

He nodded, but he looked at me. “Can I have a minute first?”

The officer glanced at me. I said yes. She and Lena stepped into the hall, leaving the door open.

Marco stayed just inside it.

“I was coming backstage because Lena sent for me,” he said. “Mia was fussing, and they needed me onstage for the opening. I saw the sand and heard Dana. I didn’t ask you what happened.”

I kept the ice against my face.

“I hit you,” he said. “There’s no excuse for that.”

“No,” I said.

Mia stirred. He adjusted his arm and waited until she settled again.

“I’ll give the officer my statement,” he said. “And I’ll tell the hotel board what I saw on the tablet. Dana won’t be supervising you or anyone else while they investigate.”

I looked at the tablet on the desk. Its screen had gone dark.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel tonight,” I said.

“You don’t have to. Take the week off, paid. Longer if you need it.”

“I also don’t want Dana contacting me.”

“I’ll tell the board.”

I set the melting ice pack in the wastebasket. “I’ll tell them myself too.”

Marco nodded. He didn’t move closer or ask me to forgive him. He stepped into the hallway and called the officer back.

She asked him to sit in the chair I’d just left. Lena held the door for me, and I walked past him into the corridor.

At the stage door, I stopped. The red curtain had opened, and warm light spread across the empty boards. A crew member was sweeping the last grains of sand into a dustpan.

Lena came up beside me with my coat.

“Do you need a ride?”

I slipped my arms into the sleeves. “Yes, please.”

Behind us, the officer’s voice carried from the office. Marco answered, low and steady. Lena picked up the tablet charger from the corridor floor and handed it through the office door.

Then she took her car keys from her pocket, and I followed her out.