The singing trees, p.23
The Singing Trees, page 23
Annalisa held back her political opinions. She thought about all the protesters spitting on soldiers and calling them baby killers, and despite her hate for the war, she had no hate for the soldiers. How could anyone? Guys like Thomas were doing their duty for their country, and as he spoke in his army acronyms and talked about his flight out of McGuire Air Force Base the next day and what he expected in the months to come, she knew that the man she loved was a man of great honor.
What would it be like when he returned from the war? If she still felt the way she did now, how could she keep denying them a chance? He was right here in front of her, the reason for her being, proof that love existed—a bushel of apples dropping on her head—and yet she had to remember the consequences. As much as it hurt, as if hurt was a worthy word for what she felt inside her heart, she couldn’t allow them to be any more than this: ex-lovers bathing in the delights of the past.
Several times, as their conversation weaved from the seriousness of the war to the silliness of being human, she wondered what it would have been like if she hadn’t ended their relationship and if he hadn’t been drafted. Would they still be together? Would she still be painting? Would he still be on track to go to dental school? Would he have been cut off by his father? Would Emma still be alive, or would she have attempted suicide again—this time, potentially succeeding?
Ultimately, considering she hadn’t painted anything groundbreaking lately, she wondered if it was all for nothing. Had she given up a chance at love only to go on and become nothing more than a hobby artist like the other women in the Mills?
Elvis’s “Suspicious Minds” played in her head, the push and pull that seemed to define the connection between them.
“Why are you here?” a voice inside asked her. “What are you doing dragging this man along?”
While still carrying on a conversation with Thomas, she screamed to the voice in her head, “I don’t fucking know!”
“So this is it,” she said, pushing open the door to her apartment. How could she not have let him in? He’d been a part of this dream for so long—he’d been the first one to truly support it. Her head was a freaking mess, and she wanted to run out to the balcony and leap to peace. What kind of God would force her to make a decision between the man she loved and her art? What kind of God would let her fall so deeply for a man whose life could be ruined by that same love?
“You’ve been busy,” he said, looking at the paintings hanging on every wall of the living room. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re ready for museums.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she said, trying to stomp on her emotions as if they were a fire spreading over a yard of leaves. If only Sharon Maxwell agreed with him.
Forcing herself to stay in the moment, she gave him a tour of her work, showing her progression from last summer to now. He took a long time, looking at each piece, and his interest meant the world to her.
“I thought I was getting somewhere, but Sharon definitely planted a seed of doubt.” Annalisa told him what her teacher had said, and how Annalisa had probably ruined any chance of ever showing her work at Sharon’s show or any reputable gallery in town. She’d not told anyone about her eruption at the studio, not even Nonna, as she was too ashamed.
As she had expected, telling him made her feel so much better.
“You are getting somewhere, Annalisa. I see it.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Some people can work their whole lives and not achieve greatness. There has to be a natural talent, stuff that can’t be taught.” She couldn’t believe she was admitting this out loud to someone. “What if I don’t have that kind of talent? Anyway, just the struggles of an artist. I haven’t done much since Christmas. Who knew there was such a thing as painter’s block?”
What she didn’t say mattered most of all, but she couldn’t dare cross that line. The question she wondered more than any other was: What if she’d given up their love for nothing?
“Don’t even go down that road,” he said. “Not only are you the most dedicated person I’ve ever met, but you do have talent. Everyone knows it.” He spun around the room. “Look at all these. Don’t question yourself now. You’ve come too far.” His unflagging support was a bucket of love dumped over her head, and she didn’t know what to do with it.
Thomas pointed out the window to the balcony and beyond. “There it is, the Leaning Tower of Treeza.”
“That’s it,” Annalisa said, sliding open the door and feeling the cold air whipping in, cooling off the fire inside her core.
He took a long look at the chimes she’d made from the pieces in Walt’s shop and then cast his eyes over the view she’d drawn for him in the letter she’d sent last summer. “I would sit in my bunk before lights out and look at your drawing, imagining you and this view. Makes me so happy to actually see it.”
If he only knew that she’d sat out here and thought of him, too, ached for him, really. And here he was, and she was so damn confused.
He rested his hands on the railing as Annalisa buttoned up her jacket. “Wherever I end up going,” he said, “I’ll be thinking of you standing out here, maybe thinking about me sometimes.”
“Of course I’ll be thinking of you, silly,” she said, almost too quickly. Because I love you, she thought.
Attempting to keep her emotions at bay, she pointed southwest. “That would be Louisiana, somewhere out there.” She moved her finger to the right and noticed its shake. “Then Vietnam.”
Thomas grabbed her finger and brought her arm down. “Don’t be afraid.”
For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, and she had no idea what she would have done. Or perhaps she did know. She’d welcome it, bathe in it, but then one kiss would lead to another, and then they’d be right back to last year, back to that night in the waiting room of the hospital where he’d slugged it out with his father while Emma crept back from nearly dying down the hall. If only they lived in a world without consequences.
Despite all the terrible that would come, she would have risked it all just to connect with him so intimately, to taste his lips and to finally even tell him how much she cared. How nice it would be to let it all go for a minute, to eschew responsibility and give in to her desire.
Instead of kissing her, he let her hand go and frowned. “I need to get going so I can catch that two o’clock bus.”
In an instant, the wind seemed to die, and the chimes stopped singing. Even her heart stopped fluttering. Though he was respecting the boundaries she’d drawn, she’d hoped he would break them. That was not who he was, though, and his chivalrous act made her want him all the more.
The moment was gone, and her mind returned to his destination. By the time she was having dinner the next night, he’d be breathing Vietnamese air.
Fighting off tears that would have frozen on her cheeks, she put a hand on his strong arm. “You be a warrior, okay? Be strong and don’t let your guard down. That’s how you come home.” She wished she could tell him that she’d be waiting on him, but she couldn’t.
“I’ll be okay over there; don’t worry.”
What an impossible notion, to not worry.
They hugged hard, and she whispered a prayer up through those hazy clouds to God, asking that Thomas come home safe and sound. No matter what might become of them, she desperately wanted to lay eyes on him after the war and know that he’d made it back home safely. Letting go of all rationality, she wondered if maybe they could give each other a chance after the war.
They returned to casual conversation as they left the apartment, and she gave him a ride to the bus station. Navigating the icy parking lot, she followed him to buy a ticket and then to his waiting bus. They’d made it just in time. Part of her wished they could talk more, that maybe he’d take a later bus, but today wasn’t about her. It was about Thomas boarding a plane en route to one of the most dangerous places on earth.
After another hug, he climbed the steps with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He stopped at the top and turned. “Do big things, Anna.”
She didn’t know what kind of words of encouragement to offer in reply. Her big things didn’t feel so big anymore, considering his destination. Finally, she said, “You come home now.”
“I will,” he promised. His tightened cheeks attempted to hide his feelings.
The bus driver came from inside the station, straightening his navy blue cap. “All right, lovebirds, time to go.”
“Keep writing me,” he said. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Emptiness swelled inside her.
“And pick up your brush.”
“Yeah.” She wondered if those might be his last words to her . . . pick up your brush. The thought traveled like a snake’s venom through her body.
Tremendous emotion and thousands of words silently passed between them in their last look. She almost told him she loved him, but she couldn’t muster the courage to say it.
Instead, she replied, “Goodbye, Thomas Barnes. I’ll see you when you get back.”
He pressed his lips together and gave a nod. “Goodbye, my incredibly talented and beyond extraordinary friend, Annalisa Mancuso. You keep being one of a kind, and I’ll see you in a year.”
Her heart felt dusty and barren.
He turned like a soldier pivoting to a command, and the door folded closed. Black smoke belched from the back of the bus as it began to pull away.
Thomas appeared in the back window, waving at her. She returned the wave, and then he drew a heart on the window, framing himself. She choked up as she stared through the heart into his brave eyes until the bus was gone.
She should have kissed him. She should have told him she loved him. What if she never saw him again and this had been her chance? Sharon Maxwell’s words about finding connection stung her as the image of Thomas waving at her drifted away, like a smoke ring disappearing in the air.
Chapter 25
WHO IS WE?
That Thursday, after a visit with the girls in the Bargain Bin, Annalisa rode back up the escalator and went into the small kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. She was debating whether or not to even attend Sharon Maxwell’s art show in three months, as Annalisa had not once spoken to her since walking out of her studio. She wasn’t even sure if she was welcome and knew an apology was long overdue.
Annalisa was painting, though. Armed with a newfound resolve—no doubt spurred by Thomas’s visit—she was back at it with an almost vitriolic assertiveness. If she couldn’t have him, she better damn well keep chasing her voice.
As she passed through the hall of offices leading to the Advertising Department, coffee in hand, Ted Miller appeared.
She still avoided him at all costs and was mid-pivot in an attempt to escape when he said, “Ah, there she is. We haven’t seen you in a while.”
Annalisa’s first thought was, Who is we? She couldn’t stand it when people did that.
Stalling her retreat, she flattened the disgust on her face and let out a happy, “How are you, Mr. Miller?”
“I’m very fine,” he said. His shirt was moist with sweat near his underarms, and she sipped tiny breaths so as not to smell his body odor.
“What are you working on today?” As he asked the question, he unabashedly ran his eyes up and down, inspecting her.
Swallowing her disgust, she said, “We’re trying to wrap up all the Demi Flores stuff now.” Flores was whom everyone in fashion was into right now. She sidestepped and started toward her destination. A group of managers was huddled in a circle, chatting farther down the hall.
“Now hold on,” he said. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Lots of work to be done, Mr. Miller.”
“I’d like to ask you something.”
She stopped, closed her eyes, took a long breath, and then turned back to him.
“My nephew just moved to town from Boston—a smart kid—and he needs someone to show him around. I thought a good-looking broad like yourself would do the trick. Care to meet him?”
Annalisa shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t have time for anyone right now. I’ve got so much going on here and outside of work.” Not that he cared, but if he only knew how heavy Thomas was on her mind, he wouldn’t be wasting his time.
Mr. Miller dipped his chin and looked at her hand. “Still no ring, though, huh? Shame a girl like you hasn’t found anybody yet.” Oh, she had, and that was the problem.
Annalisa couldn’t take another moment of conversation. As she bade him a good day and turned to rush away, he said, “Let me know if you change your mind about my nephew. Who knows what could happen with your soldier boy?” With that, he smacked her on the bottom.
Annalisa spun so quickly she nearly broke the heels off her shoes. Not today. She had no tolerance whatsoever. Here she was having given up love to establish herself, and he had no right to touch her, to get in the way.
A part of her tried to suppress the rage. She knew as well as anyone in this building that this was a man’s world, and anything she did other than let this go would be detrimental to her career.
That thought was so far down the tunnel, though, that it didn’t stop her from raising her right hand. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” she spat through gritted teeth. Her hand was ready to swat him. She could feel hot coffee spilling out of the cup in her left hand.
“Whoa, little lady,” he said, lifting up his hands in retreat, as if he’d done nothing wrong. “Let’s settle down here.”
Annalisa looked in his dirty little eyes and felt rage boiling up inside. There was no amount of rationality strong enough to stop her. Instead of hitting him, she slung the coffee toward his shoes, spilling half of it on his pant legs below the knees.
The steam rose as he reached for the burn, rubbing his legs like they were on fire. The huddled managers all turned, and Annalisa could feel her job—the one she’d fought so hard to earn—slipping away.
The fire inside burned too hot, though. “Don’t you ever touch me again!” she snapped. “Or any other woman in this building. A fanabla!” Go to hell.
He glared at her. Annalisa thought he might hit her, but at the last second, he glanced at their coworkers gawking at the spectacle.
Breathing like a bull through his nose, he said, “I hope that was worth it.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “You just ruined your whole life. You’ll never find another job in this whole fucking town.”
Tapping into the deepest part of her core as a woman, she asked, “Do you think you’re the first man to get in my way?”
Then, as she stared into his beady eyes twinkling with victory, the reality of what she’d done hit her. She’d just let him win. She wasn’t the first in Pride’s to get a smack on the bottom. Maybe this week. A woman had to tolerate this sort of thing if she wanted to work and not sit at home all day, and she knew that. Even Patty, who was as strong as any woman Annalisa had ever known, let men get away with unacceptable comments. Otherwise, you were waging a war that you might not win. Whether Annalisa liked it or not, she’d just risked her job to stand up for all the women at Pride’s and everywhere else who were fed up with such injustice.
Without engaging further, she marched down the hall past the others. As she disappeared into the Advertising Department, she heard Mr. Miller ranting about how she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
It was quiet as she entered, a sleepy feeling, especially compared to the commotion she’d just escaped. Her coworkers thankfully hadn’t heard. Trying to breathe through her feelings—the fury, the determination, the regret—she walked past the cubicles filled with copy editors to her desk by the window. She said hello to her neighbors and perched on her stool, knowing it was only a matter of time before she’d be fighting for her job.
Sure enough, she heard Patty’s high heels crossing the floor ten minutes later. Annalisa had been sitting there, staring at her empty illustration board, thinking that what he’d done should be a crime. But she knew reporting him would do nothing. In fact, her slinging coffee on him was the more serious offense. No one would care that he’d touched her. No one would care that she’d stood up for her fellow women.
Annalisa closed her eyes, feeling Fate wrapping her fingers around her neck. Patty asked her to follow her to her office. Once she’d closed the door, she said, “I don’t like him any more than you do.”
Annalisa paced back and forth, explaining to Patty that she had no choice but to defend herself.
Patty sat back in her chair. “I admire what you did, but you can’t. You just can’t.”
“What was I supposed to do? He smacked my butt.”
Patty shook her head. “You’re preaching to the choir. If it was up to me, he would be pushed out the window.”
Annalisa stopped pacing and put a panicky hand on her chest. “Patty, I need this job. I’ve worked so hard to get here.” Had she really just lost everything she’d worked for?
“There’s no doubting your work either,” Patty said. “You’re my favorite employee, but this is out of my hands. I fought for you, but I only have so much pull. You attacked Ted, honey. I want to pin a medal on you, but you and I are alone in this one. Men run Pride’s, and we’re just lucky to have a role. I hate to say that, but it’s true. You know I’ll help you find another job, but your time here is done.”
With the only strength she had left, she thanked Patty for the opportunity, stood up, and exited the building through the revolving doors.
Ted Miller had won, and Annalisa had failed Patty and all the other women who would have killed to have her job. She’d failed herself and even her family back home, who’d been cheering for her. She’d been making so much money that she sent monthly checks back to Nonna. What would Nonna say? Annalisa had enough savings and was making enough from selling her pieces at Walt’s shop to not have to retreat back home yet, but still, what would she do now?
She couldn’t make a living selling pieces out of a silly clock shop. What she needed was a gallery to finally take her in, but who would? Annalisa couldn’t bear the idea of showing her latest portfolio to Jackie after walking out on Sharon. Surely the two had spoken about it.
