Chapter 4 - Filming My Dance
The bracelet still wasn't on the table. That was the part I kept staring at.
My bag sat open under the chandelier light, its lining pulled halfway out. Lip balm, a folded parking ticket from the church lot, my phone with a cracked corner, a hair tie. Nothing gold, nothing that clicked. One of my uncles had stepped back with his arms crossed. Nobody said what we all knew, that the first pass had found nothing and now nobody knew what to do next.
Grandma stood closest to me. She hadn't touched anything herself. She just watched, her hands folded over the front of her blue jacket, her mouth set in a thin line.
I could feel the heat climbing up my neck. My ponytail felt too tight. I looked past the table toward the back wall because I couldn't look at the faces anymore, and that's when my eyes landed on the hutch.
The pink case stood out against the dark wood. It was propped between a silver plate and a framed photo, tilted down just enough toward the room. A tiny green light blinked beside the lens.
I lifted my hand before I thought about it. "That's mine."
My cousin's wife in the white dress turned her head fast. Her gold necklace caught the daylight. "What is?"
"My tablet," I said. I kept my voice low. My throat was dry. "On the hutch. The one in the pink case."
Grandma followed my look. "The thing that's been sitting there all morning?"
I nodded. I took a half step toward it but stopped because I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to grab it. My hands were shaking, so I pressed them together.
"I got here early," I said. "Like, way before lunch. You said to come at eleven-thirty, remember? I came at ten-fifteen because I wanted to—" I paused and swallowed. "I wanted to film something for you."
Grandma frowned. "For me?"
"My dance." The words came out smaller than I meant. "For the recital next month. The studio floor is being refinished, so I don't have anywhere with a mirror. You have that open space by the windows. The light is good in here. I thought if I filmed it I could see what I was doing wrong."
Nobody moved. The sheer curtains shifted a little with the air from the vent.
I pointed again, this time just with my chin because my hands wouldn't stay steady. "I set it up on the hutch when I got here. I propped it up so it could see the whole floor. I pressed record and ran through it twice. Then I left it there because lunch started and everybody came in."
My cousin's wife laughed, short and sharp. "So we're supposed to believe you just happened to be recording?"
I looked at her. "I'm not saying it happened to be recording. I'm saying I left it recording. It's still recording."
That changed the air in the room. My uncle uncrossed his arms. Another aunt glanced from me to the hutch and back. Grandma took two slow steps toward the wood cabinet, her shoes quiet on the rug, and stopped a few feet away like she didn't want to get too close and mess anything up.
"It's been on this whole time?" she asked.
"I think so," I said. "I never stopped it. I was going to get it after we ate."
Grandma studied the little green light. Then she looked at the angle of the tablet, at the table in front of it, at my open bag sitting right in the middle of that view.
"You mean to tell me," she said slowly, "that thing has been facing this table since ten-fifteen this morning?"
My chest tightened. I nodded.
I could see her doing the math. I could see my uncle doing it too. If the bag had been on that table, if people had been moving around it, if words had been said near it — the lens had been pointed right at it the entire time.
My cousin's wife shifted her weight. The tense smile was gone now. Her jaw worked for a second before she spoke. "That doesn't prove anything. A camera on a shelf doesn't mean—"
Grandma held up one hand without looking at her. "Hush."
May you like
She didn't touch the tablet. She just stood there looking at it, her gray bun catching the light from the window. The green light blinked again, steady and quiet.
"Leave it where it is," she said.
