The singing trees, p.11
The Singing Trees, page 11
Mr. Barnes sat back in disgust, as if the rest of them at the table had lost their minds. “A strong Davenport family breeds well. Trust me; you two will end up destroying each other. I’ve seen it all my life. Sure, a crush is fine, but once you get to know each other, you’ll see you have nothing in common. I’m sorry to burst your little daydreaming bubbles.” He pounded the rest of his drink.
Annalisa wondered if maybe her grandmother was right, after all. Choosing not to engage further with Bill Barnes, she looked at Thomas’s mother, who stared at her soup like she was trying to part it as Moses had the Red Sea. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Barnes.”
Moving on to Emma, Annalisa said, “See you soon.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
Annalisa managed a wink.
Standing, she followed Thomas across the dining room. By now, people had stopped what they were doing and watched the couple take their leave.
Thomas and Annalisa grabbed their coats in silence and spoke only once they were out in the cold under the stars. He turned and took her hand as he marched to the car. Shaking his head in disgust, he said, “I can’t believe him.”
Annalisa squeezed his hand. “They don’t change how I feel about you. It’s okay.”
“No it’s not!” he spat, turning away from her. “Is it really possible to hate your own father? Because that’s exactly how I feel. And my mother just lets it all go down. She’s so weak. No wonder Emma is losing her mind.”
As they drove by the long powdery fairways and the country club faded in the side mirror, Annalisa worried that they both might be into more than they could handle, and it was a long and quiet drive back to the Mills.
When they arrived home, Thomas escorted her in. Nonna sat in the recliner in the living room, watching the news. Nonna’s hearing wasn’t the best, so she’d cranked the volume, something about Fred Hampton.
“Hi, Mrs. Mancuso,” Thomas said over the broadcast, stepping into the living room. “I just wanted to come in and say hello.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Nonna said. A small glass of brandy rested on the table next to her.
As Annalisa went to lower the volume, she heard the newscaster talk about the aftermath of Hampton’s death in Chicago a few days earlier. The Black Panther Party leader’s controversial death had ignited even more uproar from around the country, the Panthers claiming the FBI had raided Hampton’s home and shot him in cold blood as he lay in his bed asleep.
When she turned back to listen to Thomas attempt to charm Nonna, Annalisa was reminded how badly she wanted to leave small-town Maine and all the narrow-mindedness, as had been exquisitely illustrated by Mr. Barnes earlier. How could she keep hiding in this bubble? She wanted to know the truth about what was happening in the world, and the only way to do that was to get out in it.
“My father was a jerk to your granddaughter tonight,” Thomas told her. “Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed.”
Nonna’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I keep telling Annalisa how lucky she is to have family like you.” He smiled with closed lips. “Anyway, you guys have a good night. I need to make sure my sister’s okay.”
Annalisa followed him out and took his hand on the porch. “It’s okay,” she assured him, noticing the soft sound of the wind chimes.
He turned to face her, his breath fogging up. “I just wish things were different.”
“Hey,” she said, mustering the courage to take a stance, “nothing your father says affects us. I’m certainly not judging you because of your family.”
“I appreciate that.” He leaned in and kissed her lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? At least we got it over with.”
After he’d left, she sat on the couch next to Nonna. The television showed people paying their respects to Fred Hampton as they walked by his open casket in a packed church.
“His dad is a complete jerk,” Annalisa said. “And please don’t go into an I-told-you-so rant. I don’t need to hear it.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Nonna replied, crossing her ankles.
Annalisa told her about the dinner and how they’d stormed out.
Nonna looked her way. “I’m not saying I told you so, Annalisa. It’s just the way it is. We, meaning our family, our people, have different values from others. That’s why I want you to find someone more similar. Maybe someone from the church.”
Annalisa rolled her eyes and pointed to the television. “I can’t hide in Payton Mills while all this is going on.”
Nonna raised her voice. “So you want to be in the thick of it? What good will that do? You might get yourself killed.”
Annalisa imagined Nonna had said the same thing to her father when he was her age. “I might find the truth. Or at least hear some other opinions on life.” She was still reeling from watching the draft, thinking that it shouldn’t be right that men should have to go to fight a war with which they disagreed. And if you happened to disagree in some way, like Fred Hampton, the government would kill you.
“It’s a terrible time,” Nonna admitted, crossing her arms. “All I can say is that I pity your children, who will have to grow up in this mess.”
Annalisa sat up, hearing the plastic crackle underneath her. “My children? Let’s hope you’re not counting on me for children.” She was still trying to work her way through the first relationship of her life.
“I want you to be happy,” Nonna said. “That’s all.”
“Then you have to let me be me. I’m not like the other girls at our church or at school. I want different things.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Nonna unfolded her arms. “Why do you think I give you so much slack?”
“If that’s true, then support me. Quit jabbing me about wanting to go to Portland. And let me enjoy dating a guy for the first time in my life, without you shaking your head.” Annalisa pointed at the door. “He’s a nice guy.”
Nonna followed her finger. “It appears that way.”
“Thomas is different,” Annalisa insisted, wanting so badly to believe it. “He’s not like his father. Or mine,” she added.
Nonna looked over with wise eyes. “I hope not.”
Chapter 11
THE BROKEN ONES
Thomas brought Emma over three days after Christmas. Following a quick exchange among the three of them about the nightmare that was the country club dinner, he left the two girls and took his skates to a local pond for a workout. Annalisa couldn’t deny that his willingness to drive so much out of his way for his sister was terribly attractive. If he wasn’t careful, she might actually fall hard.
Though Emma was growing more comfortable around Annalisa, she was very shy around Nonna when they were introduced. “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Mancuso.” Her words fell out of her mouth like stones as she pulled at her green sweater.
Nonna surprised Annalisa by warmly approaching Emma, who was a few inches taller, and looking up at her. “And you, too, Emma. I hope you’re hungry.” They were in the kitchen, and for the occasion Nonna had made a batch of Italian pastries called sfogliatelle, which had filled the house with a delicious candied aroma.
“My brother told me to bring my appetite,” Emma said, looking toward the oven.
Nonna smiled at her and patted the girl’s cheek. “Always when you come here.”
Emma’s body instantly relaxed, and Annalisa’s heart soared. Her grandmother could be so incredibly sweet when she wanted to be.
Annalisa took her around the house, pointing out her favorites of the pieces she’d done over the years. Either Emma was extremely impressed and interested or putting on a great act. The pieces featured most prominently in the living room were typically from the happier stages of her life. Though she’d never admit to it, Nonna tended to hang the more depressing paintings in less conspicuous spots, like above the toilet. Still, she did hang all of them, which meant something.
Once in Annalisa’s bedroom, she said to Emma, “This is my room and my studio. I like to paint outside when it’s warm, but this is where I am all winter.”
They both looked from right to left: the bed pushed as close as it could be to the closet and then her messy work space with an easel, chair, and a desk splattered with acrylic and cluttered with paint tubes, brushes, palette knives, and color studies.
Emma studied the pieces hanging on the wall, where Annalisa kept her latest works, including two nudes that were still drying. She quickly realized it might have been a good idea to take them down before having a fourteen-year-old enter the room. “Sorry, they might be a bit much for you.”
Emma blushed. “My mom would never let me paint these. Nonna doesn’t care?” The girl looked at the painting of a nude brunette stretched out on a yellow couch like it was an image of the Loch Ness Monster.
“I’m a little bit older,” Annalisa said. “This is part of learning. In fact, every art school has classes with live models who sit nude while you paint them. How about that?”
“No . . . ,” Emma said, with equal amounts of shock and excitement.
“Yes!” Annalisa loved this. Emma could be beautiful when she opened up.
Still staring at the brunette, she asked, “Have you had a class like that?”
“Not yet,” Annalisa admitted, thinking that the Mills would never offer such a class, even for adults. “But I’m sure I will one day. All these paintings are from books and my imagination. Do you want to paint something? Not a nude but anything you’d like.”
Emma finally pulled her eyes away. “Are you sure?”
“Why not?” Annalisa asked. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to teach you.”
“What would we paint?” Emma glanced over at the table of paints and brushes.
Annalisa crossed the room and waved Emma over. “I think abstracts might be the best way to start. The less thinking the better for now. Sometimes it’s fun just to see what comes out.”
Though Annalisa preferred painting on stretched canvas, their financial situation had steered her to heavyweight paper. As Emma sat, Annalisa handed her a smock and took a sheet of paper she’d already primed with gesso and clipped it to the easel. Very often, Annalisa sketched her paintings on a separate pad before mixing paints, but in this case she wanted to keep it simple.
For the next hour, she showed Emma the basics, starting with choosing a brush, applying a color wash, then mixing the paints to obtain the perfect color.
“Let go of any kind of rules for this one,” Annalisa coached her. “Just have fun. Nothing matters but finding colors you love and putting them on the page.”
“So anything?” Emma looked like she’d been set free for the first time in her life.
Annalisa handed her the brush. “There are absolutely no rules. Well, there is one today. Whatever you do, put your heart into it. But don’t worry about what comes out. Just enjoy the motions and fall into the spell.”
Emma shed the rest of her nervousness and started to find the meditative beauty of brushing colors across the paper. As the painting came alive in a blast of abstract shapes, the two fell into conversation.
Annalisa knew Emma had some heavy things to get off her chest, so she prodded her enough with her own story until the girl felt very comfortable speaking to her. Emma talked about her childhood first, and all her memories seemed to revolve around Thomas.
“I’m just glad he stuck around,” Emma said a few minutes later. “He wouldn’t ever admit it, but I know he stayed home for me.” Annalisa knew that to be true and was still impressed by his devotion to his sister. Using a fan brush, Emma dragged a streak of turquoise across the top corner of the page.
“Try a little lighter touch with that one,” Annalisa said, kneeling next to her. “Can I show you?” She took the brush and used a much more tender motion, the bristles mere feathers. Annalisa noticed Emma gravitated toward circular movements but wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Emma copied Annalisa’s technique as she let loose more of her inner world. “I don’t know what I would have done if he’d left me. Probably run away. My dad doesn’t like me, and my mom isn’t even awake half the time. You saw firsthand. Ever since she found out my dad was cheating, she’s been like that. I’m sure Thomas told you about it.”
“What? He didn’t, actually.” Annalisa was surprised, considering how much they’d shared with each other. Not that Mr. Barnes being a cheater shocked her.
“Yeah, a few years ago,” Emma said. “I came home sick one day, while my mom was out of town visiting her parents in New Hampshire. My dad walked out of his bedroom with another woman.”
Annalisa touched her arm. “That’s horrible.”
Emma kept painting, as if the act were as comforting to her as it was to Annalisa. “He tried to keep me from telling her, and I didn’t until about two years ago. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Annalisa’s mouth had fallen open in disgust. “And that’s why you say your dad doesn’t like you, because he didn’t have the guts to tell your mom himself?”
Emma pulled the brush from the page. “Welcome to the Barnes family. We’re like the Cleavers on the outside, but once you crack us open, there’s a whole world of crazy to explore. He was the nicest guy in the world for a little while, trying to keep me on his team, until I broke his trust. Then he flipped. On all of us.”
Was that why Emma was on the cliff that day? Annalisa wondered. “So when did Thomas find out?”
“I told Thomas first, and then we told my mom together.” Emma showed her hurt as if it had happened yesterday. “That was the day our family fell apart. Thomas started hating our dad and started sticking up for me. That’s why he didn’t move out, to protect me. And I guess to be with me . . .”
“What a good brother he is,” Annalisa said. “God, I bet you want out of Davenport as badly as I want to get out of here. Maybe you should come with me.”
Emma glanced over. “Oh God, I’d love that more than anything.”
Realizing Emma had taken her too seriously, Annalisa backtracked, “As soon as you graduate, Portland and I will be waiting.”
Emma deflated. “Yeah, I know. Three more years. Then I’m definitely leaving. I mean, I think so. I hate to leave my mom with my dad alone, but I can’t take it.”
Annalisa tried to lift Emma back up. “So where would you go? If you could go anywhere in the world after you graduate.”
Emma dabbed her brush into the paint and took it to the paper. “If my brother goes to NYU, then that’s where I’d like to go. I just have to keep my grades up.”
Thinking Emma had to let go of Thomas at some point, she said, “Let’s switch brushes.” Taking the fan brush from Emma’s hand, she dropped it into the water and handed her a small round one. “This is what I use most. If you’re steady, you can paint some wonderful detail with this brush.”
While Emma tested out an even lighter shade of blue, Annalisa said, “Before New York then, you just need to find something you love to do. I’d be happy to keep teaching you to paint, or you might find something else. Maybe buy a guitar. If you’re like Thomas, you can start watching hockey, though I think we both feel the same way about sports.” They shared a knowing smile.
There was a knock on the door, and Thomas poked his head in. “Hi, guys. Having fun yet?” He was like a ray of light entering the room.
“You’re already back?” Emma said with disappointment. “We’re not done yet.”
He took a step back. “No rush, sis. I can hang out with Nonna for a little while.” He looked at Annalisa for approval.
“Give us a few more minutes,” Annalisa said, smiling at her boyfriend. That’s right, her boyfriend!
After he closed the door, they finished their conversation. Then Emma dropped her brush into the can. “Maybe I could come back and finish it one day?”
Annalisa studied what Emma had done. There was a beauty in the circular motion of the painting and in the colors Emma had come up with. Emma had certainly followed her one lesson: to put her heart into it. “I think there’s an artist in you just begging to get out.”
Emma loved that comment. “I had a lot of fun.”
The two girls hugged, and Annalisa said, “We’ll do it again soon.”
When the girls left the room, they found Thomas sitting on the couch, talking to Nonna in her recliner. Annalisa wondered if he was slowly chipping away at her grandmother, or if she was holding strong. Either way, he was very sweet to make an attempt.
“Thank you for having me,” Emma said to Nonna.
“You’re welcome,” Nonna replied happily. “Come back anytime.”
After walking them out, Annalisa returned to the house, wondering what Nonna was thinking about all this, these two Davenporters in her home. Apropos Annalisa’s own opinion, she thought that she had a lot in common with Thomas and Emma, and she enjoyed having them in her life. Both of them gave her a sense of purpose outside of her art.
Back inside, she settled onto the couch. “So? I know you have something to say.”
Nonna pointed to the door. “I’d be careful with that one.”
“Who?” Annalisa asked. “Thomas? I think you’ve warned me enough.”
Nonna sat up and started to stand. “No. Emma. She likes you a lot. You’ll break her heart if something happens between you and Thomas.”
“As if I can control that.”
Nonna pressed up. “I think it’s very nice of you what you’re doing, but she’s troubled, Annalisa. Maybe more than you ever were.” With that, her grandmother disappeared down the hall.
Thomas returned every few days through the winter, and Annalisa craved time with him. He brought Emma over twice more, and the two girls spent an hour or two painting and chatting while he killed time in the Mills or hung out with Nonna. He always made it a point to tell Annalisa how grateful he was for her help with Emma and that Emma had been in such a better mood lately.
Annalisa painted more than ever, wishing she could leap forward in time to her graduation. She’d been so caught up in the news lately, and in attempting to understand it, that most of her newer ideas came from real life. She captured a group of protesters going up against the police in Boston. Still wrestling with her feelings about the draft, she painted Nixon having his head shaved. She’d seen enough images of soldiers in Vietnam that she painted them, too, imagining their daily lives in a far-off land.
