Chapter 7
The next morning Matteo didn't come to the kitchen right away. I heard his office door close down the hall at seven fifteen and stay closed.
Mia and I ate toast at the small kitchen table. I had washed the same yellow gloves and hung them over the sink to dry, and every time I moved my hands I remembered the cold of the marble through my knees. Mia colored quietly, her pink backpack on the floor beside her chair where Matteo had said to keep it. She hadn't mentioned the pitcher.
At seven forty, Matteo appeared in the kitchen doorway with his laptop tucked under his arm. He was in a gray t-shirt and jeans instead of the black suit, his hair still damp.
"Morning," he said. He set the laptop on the counter, not at the table, and I realized he didn't want Mia to see the screen.
"Did you sleep okay?" I asked.
"Enough." He opened the laptop. His expression was the same controlled one from the close-up in the hallway, brows slightly down. "I pulled the hallway camera from yesterday and from Tuesday. The one over the chandelier. It catches the whole marble floor."
Bianca wasn't there. She was still upstairs. I stood and moved to where I could see the corner of the screen without Mia seeing it.
Matteo clicked play. The timestamp said Day 0, 11:42 a.m. The hallway was empty, bright with daylight. Then I walked into frame from the laundry hall carrying the mop bucket, gloves on, and started on the baseboard near the arched doorway. A minute later Bianca walked into frame holding the cut-glass pitcher with both hands. No spill on the floor. No water. No mess at all.
On the video she said something I couldn't hear, and I knelt down. Not to clean. She pointed at the floor in front of her feet and I lowered myself to all fours. My head bowed. She stood over me still holding the pitcher.
Matteo paused it. "There was no spill," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "No."
He rewound and played Tuesday's file. It was after school pickup, 4:17 p.m. Mia was in the hallway in her light dress, dragging her backpack. Bianca came out with the same pitcher. She poured water into a small plastic cup and held it out. Mia reached, hesitated, and Bianca tilted the pitcher higher, letting water slosh toward Mia's hands. Mia jerked back and the water went on her shoes and the marble. Bianca didn't help. She just watched her step back.
Matteo closed the laptop a little harder than he needed to.
He didn't say anything for a long moment. The refrigerator hummed. Mia's crayon squeaked on paper.
"So she told me you made a mess," he said finally, his voice low enough that Mia wouldn't hear clearly. "But you didn't. And on Tuesday you said Mia spilled. She didn't spill it on her own."
I kept my hands on the counter so they wouldn't shake. "That's what happened."
Matteo nodded once. He looked at the frozen frame of me on my knees and then shut the laptop completely. "I asked her to wait in the living room after dinner last night. She said she was trying to teach you standards. Trying to teach Mia how to be careful."
"Did she explain why Mia's scared of the pitcher?" I asked.
"She said Mia's sensitive. That she cries easily in your apartment before you moved here." He glanced at Mia, who was focused on her coloring. "That's not what I saw on those videos."
I didn't answer. My throat was tight.
Matteo picked up the laptop and tucked it under his arm again. "I'll talk to her this morning. You and Mia stay in the kitchen and Mia's room. Don't worry about the hallway or the entry. I want the footage saved before anyone asks where it went."
He looked at Mia and his face softened. "You want to show me your drawing when you're done?"
May you like
Mia nodded without looking up. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and he walked back toward his office. The door clicked, and I heard him lock it.
I sat back down next to Mia. She had drawn a big yellow sun over a house with three windows. One of the windows was scribbled over hard with black crayon until the paper tore.
