My Way Home Is Through You

The trip to the store was... Educational, to say the least. It seemed that, no matter how unpicky his child may be, there were just some foods that no four-year-old would eat. Ray had found it hard not to laugh at the way Anna wrinkled her nose when he asked her if she liked tomato soup.

Once their kitchen was again well-stocked, they ate a quick dinner of chicken noodle soup (apparently anything with "noodle" in the title was fine dining to a child) and Ray shuffled Anna off for a bath. He was happy to find that he was becoming an old pro at this stuff, and quickly had her scrubbed, dried and into pajamas.

He made popcorn for them and settled her on the couch. Then he dropped to his knees in front of his DVD cabinet and stretched out on the floor to get to the bottom shelf.

"I knew these would come in handy one day," he muttered to himself as he pulled out a few cases.

"Okay, Anna, what do you want to watch?" He stood and held up the four cases he had pulled from the bottom shelf.

They were movies he was less than willing to admit that he loved as much as he did.

They were Disney.

In his left hand he held The Lion King and Aladdin. In his right hand he held The Fox and the Hound and Beauty and the Beast. He already had a good idea at which movie his daughter would choose, but he held them out to her nevertheless.

Her eyes lit up when she saw them, and she immediately cried, "Beauty!"

He grinned. He had been right, "Okay, sweetie, Beauty and the Beast it is."

Anna managed to make it all the way through the movie this time, and Ray barely paid attention to the movie himself. He was much more interested in watching her watch the movie.

Though it was obvious that she had seen it before, she still seemed delighted when the little clock and candelabra came to life and began to argue with each other. And as he watched her face during the ballroom sequence, it was clear that he had the makings of another hopeless romantic on his hands.

Just like her mother, he thought wistfully. He smiled down at her as she watched the screen with wide eyes.

After the movie, he tucked her into bed and pulled out one of his acoustic guitars. Instead of singing, he simply played for her. He played "Romance," something he hadn't played in a year or so. The traditional lullaby was just the thing to soothe her to sleep, and soon enough he had kissed her forehead and crept quietly out of her room, turning the light off as he went.

I'll have to tell Gerard how much she liked his grandmother's lullaby, he thought with a smile as he sunk onto the couch, guitar still in hand. He'll love that.

He stared in the direction of his daughter's room for a moment, lost in thought.

A sudden burst of inspiration hit him. Grabbing one of his notebooks from his computer desk, he settled back down on the couch and held the guitar snugly against him.

For the next seven hours he sat there, strumming gently on the guitar strings, pausing every few moments to jot down the notes, or a line of lyrics, into his notebook. All of his concentration was bent on finishing the song, this perfect song, which came more from his heart than any other he had ever written.

In the wee hours of the morning, he finally set the guitar down and shuffled toward his bedroom. Fingers nearly bleeding, he collapsed into his bed, feeling more content with his work, and his life, then he had in a long, long time.