He smiled and ran a thumb across the lip she'd been chewing. “I think that's a fantastic idea.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to getting you alone, but I’d enjoy catching a glimpse of your past. Heaven will still be there when we're done.”
“It might take a while.”
“I don't care how late it gets, if heaven’s where you want to go, I'll take you there.”
She smiled as she rested her cheek on his heart. “Okay. Do I need to buy my ticket now?”
“Silly angel,” he whispered, lowering his lips to her hair. “You ride free.”
Layla's grandparents were thrilled with her offer to go through the photographs and videos – Morrigan actually broke into happy sobs at the invitation – so within ten minutes they were in Layla’s living room, huddled in a circle on the floor while slowly passing around snapshots of her childhood.
“Look at this one, Quinlan,” Morrigan insisted, passing him a photo.
Layla was on his lap and saw the picture the same time he did, and her cheeks flushed as she looked away. “Don’t ask.”
“About what?” Quin laughed. “The expression on your face? Or the boy in tights trying to kiss you?”
“That’s Peter Pan,” Layla explained, “getting a little too close for Wendy’s taste.”
“How old were you?”
“Um… around eleven. Mom loved the theater and started auditioning me for local performances when I was two.”
It took several hours to sift through eighteen years of pictures, and when they got to the end of the pile, Morrigan and Daleen began cycling through them again.
“There's still a stack of videos here,” Layla reminded them. “And feel free to take some of those. Just run them by me first if they have Katherine in them.”
Her grandmothers' auras pulsed and brightened as they began selecting photos from the huge pile, and Serafin took the liberty of picking out a few of his favorites as well. Caitrin refilled everyone's coffee while approving the snapshots Morrigan flashed him. Then he found the oldest video and inserted it into the VCR.
Everyone looked at the TV as the screen filled with Layla's smiling face, which kept coming in and out of focus as Katherine tried to figure out her camcorder.
“How old are you in this?” Daleen asked.
“Almost seven,” Layla answered.
The shot finally panned out, showing off a blue and silver leotard, and Morrigan and Daleen cooed as Layla giggled at the younger version of herself. Quin smiled as he tightened his hold on her, and soon he and her grandparents were seeing a side of Layla they’d never seen before.
“Okay,” Katherine announced, prompting Layla to perform for the camera.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Layla began humming a tune and tap dancing… very well for such a small child, but then she grinned and started throwing in overzealous moves and humorous sound effects. The camcorder shook as Katherine quietly laughed behind it, and her enjoyment seemed to spur her adopted daughter’s zest. The routine ended with Layla flashing hyper jazz hands. Then Katherine cheered as Layla took a bow.
“Like it?” she asked, twirling a long curl around her finger.
“Loved it,” Katherine corrected. “Is that one of the routines you'll do at the dance recital tonight?”
“Nope,” Layla answered, twirling in place. “That was one of my own routines.”
“I thought so,” Katherine laughed. “It looked like your work.”
“The ones I'll do later aren't as funny. I told Miss Janette she should let me do our tap routine dressed like Charlie Chaplin… you know, to spice things up. But would you believe she said no?”
“The nerve.”
Layla propped her hands on her glittering hips and raised an eyebrow. “I'm telling you, mom, some people wouldn’t know entertainment even if it tapped across their face in a bowler hat and mustache.”
“If you're on the stage, Layla Love, the audience will be entertained. I promise.”
“Maybe, but they’d laugh if I looked like Charlie Chaplin.” She broke into another dance. “I should surprise Miss Janette and extend the boring routine she’s making us do. After the others leave the stage, I'll go into a number from Cabaret and mix it with the choreography from Grease. What do you think?” she asked, mixing soft shoe jazz with the moves of a Pink Lady.
The camera jarred as Katherine laughed. “I think the audience would love it, but Miss Janette is another story.”
“Well she's not committed to the art of comedy. I guess I’ll have to take on the exhausting job of opening her mind.”