The Singing Trees by Boo Walker
Chapter 24
TREMBLING LIPS AND A HEART ON A WINDOW
Annalisa worked long days at Pride’s and was at the same time attempting to break through the veil of doubt Sharon had draped over her eyes. All of it, she knew, was a distraction from Thomas, though. The busier she kept herself, the less she thought about him being back in Davenport, saying his goodbyes. He most likely was putting all his focus on his sister, trying to comfort her before his departure. Was he also being driven mad to know Annalisa was so close?
The problem was that she had become a terror to work with at Pride’s, snapping at anyone who dared to challenge her, just as she’d done to Sharon, and with regard to her art, she felt like she’d lost her groove. Sure, Sharon had knocked her down pretty harshly, but even more so, Thomas was still waving his darn arms and making bird sounds behind her easel.
Leaving him out of it for a moment—as if she could—how could she not be onto something with her new style? Customers specifically sought out her work at Walt’s shop. Bottom line, Sharon had broken the pact of a great teacher by shattering Annalisa’s excitement. Maybe Annalisa could do better, and she was trying, but why couldn’t Sharon offer just a bit of praise for once? Annalisa knew it wasn’t Sharon’s jealousy or her need for Annalisa’s weekly payment, as she’d so rudely suggested before marching out.
She couldn’t exactly say why Sharon was so opposed to her new pieces, and maybe that was why it hurt so badly. If, in fact, she hadn’t found her voice, then she was worse off than she had been even before moving. Perhaps out of shame more than anything else, she chose to drop out of Sharon’s classes.
Though it never seemed to get easier, Annalisa was no stranger to fighting through emotional turmoil in order to break through the plateaus of her creative journey, and that was what she worked toward, finding a place of confidence again, despite Sharon and Thomas.
On Tuesday, January 5, 1971, Thomas called, and she’d never needed to hear his voice more. In fact, she’d stared at her phone more than once, waiting for his call. Her world was unraveling, and he was the only one who could understand. In fairness to him, though, she had no right to lean on him anymore, having hidden from him for three weeks. She wondered if he could feel all this turmoil through the phone line as they spoke.
“Anyway,” he said, moving on from a klutzy chat about each other’s Christmas, “I was hoping we could have lunch on my way through town to drop off the Beetle.” Then he gave her a lifeline. “No pressure, though; I know you’re busy.”
With the demands of Pride’s and this uphill battle against her creative demons, the entire thing with Thomas being in town was absolutely killing her. No matter how much she was working or how bad an idea it was to see each other, she needed to make time for him. What kind of person couldn’t find an hour for lunch to spend with someone she cared about before he went off to war?
In a moment of weakness, as her mind debated his proposal, she knew that she was simply justifying her much-deeper need to see him. Between her emotional and artistic rut, she felt like he might be the escape she needed. It wasn’t that she could allow their relationship to go back to what it had once been, but maybe a little time with him could quell this heartache, which was more obstinate than Annalisa or even Nonna.
“Let’s do it,” she said, thinking: What did you just get yourself into? They agreed to noon, and she asked him to buzz her apartment upon arrival. She would pop down to meet him. As she’d said as much, though, she froze. Surely, he would want to come up and see her life as she’d described it in her letters. It was one thing to have lunch, entirely another to let him into her new life.
Having dropped out of Sharon’s classes, she finally had Tuesday nights free. In the case that she did let him up, she decided to clean for a while. She wasn’t exactly messy, but her crazy workload definitely didn’t leave much time for house chores. Staying busy seemed to be her only medicine, and every Tuesday night wrought fresh pain as she imagined the rest of her class hard at work under Sharon’s tutelage.
In the morning, she put a little extra time into her attire. She wore a double-breasted shearling coat that fell almost exactly to the length of her black wool miniskirt—a cut of which Nonna would not have approved. To complement her outfit, she first tried her black leather knee-high boots with turquoise jewels she’d attached to the buckles, but questioning her motives, she’d changed into a pair of Tony Lama boots that she’d found in a vintage store.
First thing she did when she walked into work was ask Patty if she could take a little longer lunch to spend time with her ex-boyfriend before he shipped off.
“Take a couple of hours. By the way, you look extra good today,” Patty said, eyeing her outfit. “Are we still claiming not to like him?”
Annalisa glanced down at her jacket and skirt. “We’re just friends. Doesn’t mean I can’t look good, though.”
“Well, you give him a reason to come home, okay?”
After an eye roll, Annalisa replied, “He’ll need a reason other than me, or he’ll be one disappointed soldier when he steps off the plane.” Even Annalisa didn’t believe what she was saying. In truth, she had no idea what she was doing allowing herself to see him. She was damned either way.
Wearing a smock to protect her outfit, she spent the morning on her stool, attempting to draw an imaginary woman wearing a lightweight green coat over blue denim that hung on a metal rack a few feet past her slanted drawing desk.
After months of illustrating these dresses, she was still having fun being in the industry and enjoying first peeks at the newest fashions, but the actual work of drawing the ads with pen and ink had become easy, essentially a rote experience. Not today, though. Nothing was coming easy. She didn’t feel connected at all to the women she was trying to draw to life.
On cloudy days like today, they opened the drapes on the windows overlooking Congress Street, so she spent more time than usual with her pen resting next to the inkwell and her eyes looking out over the city she now called home. Seeing Thomas was wreaking all sorts of havoc in her heart, like she’d downed a second and third cup of coffee. She was nervous to see him for so many reasons, the strongest being that today might be the last day she ever saw him. The idea was a knife to the gut. She hated to think that way, to give any light to the idea, but the war was far from over, and the news seemed to get only uglier.
A few minutes before noon, she went out into the dreary and cold day. The recent snow had partially melted, leaving the sidewalks slippery with hidden patches of ice. Rounding the corner to her apartment, she saw that he was early, the yellow Beetle parked in the small lot by the stairs. He stepped out to greet her, and she gasped.
The army had transformed and even consumed him. His head was shaved, and he had the steel-rod posture of a soldier. She’d thought he might have been in uniform, but she also knew that soldiers preferred not to draw attention these days due to the ever-growing antiwar sentiment. He was dressed simply in jeans and a sweater.
He stopped five feet from her. They stared at each other for a moment, and she could hear her heart thump. What if the men in green had cut all his kindness out of him? He smiled warmly, though, calming her worry, and she sensed that he hadn’t changed that much. More to the point, she realized that she loved him more than ever. Seven months it had been. Wasn’t time supposed to heal all? If anything, time had thrown gas on the flames of her longing for him.
One of the many lessons that Walt had taught Annalisa about time was that not all seconds were equal. Some lasted longer than others. The following seconds inched by as if they were waiting on a seed to sprout. What in the hell was she doing here? Everything—both of their lives—was on the line.
“Wow,” he whispered with a grin that showed her how much he’d truly missed her. “You look good.”
She thanked him with a smile, then, trying to lighten the energy, said, “You’ve thickened up, haven’t you?”
He glanced down at his arms. “They put me to work; that’s for sure.”
Agonizing seconds ticked by. She was so thrilled and excited and terrified to see him. No other man could ever make her feel this way, and she wondered if she’d done it all wrong by leaving him.
“I missed you,” he said, his words blowing up her skirt.
“Oh, hush,” she said with a light smirk, determined not to show how weak he made her. She couldn’t do that to either one of them. “Didn’t they toughen you up down there? It’s only been what, six months?”
He chuckled quietly, and she wondered if they might hug. She hoped they would. In the following silence, she saw a deep craving in his eyes that grew in intensity until she had to look away. He stepped forward, though, catching her from falling into awkwardness.
Pulling her into a hug, he held her tightly. She squeezed back, missing him so badly her eyes watered. Feeling his heartbeat against hers made him so much more real and made her question every decision she’d made since the day she’d left him.
When he let go, he held her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, his breath clouding up in front of him, “what’s this all about?” He wiped a tear from her cheek.
Though she almost turned away, she didn’t. “I hate this war more than anything in the world, and I can’t believe you’re going to that awful place.”
He stood strong in his army posture and looked deeply into her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Anna. I’ll be fine.”
She wanted to tell him that he could never assure her of such a thing. Instead, she wiped her eyes and shook off the sadness.
“How’s Emma?” Annalisa asked, knowing she couldn’t dwell in this intimate moment any longer without having a complete breakdown. “I’ve tried to call her a few times but . . . you know . . .” Talking about Emma wasn’t much easier, though, as Annalisa still felt like she’d failed her.
“She’s okay,” he admitted. “Still not eating much. Or smiling much, but she seems to have found a few friends, so that’s a big deal. She’s a junior now; can you imagine? She’s like you, can’t wait to get out of Davenport. She might move down here and go to UMPG.”
Annalisa recalled how Emma had wanted to follow him to New York. Knowing her, she’d probably follow her brother to Vietnam if they would have let her. “If she does, maybe we can see each other. I really hope we can get past what happened. Did you tell her we were having lunch?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t think it would help anything. She’s still so fragile . . . but she’ll come around. Trust me. She still loves you; she’s just so vulnerable. That’s all. How about your family? How’s Nonna? I wish we could let her run the mess hall.”
“She’d be good at it, wouldn’t she? Nonna’s Nonna, you know. We see each other about once a month. I have to drag her down here kicking and screaming. According to her, I’m lucky the deviants haven’t robbed me yet. Nino comes down every once in a while too. He finally dumped the beater and bought a Mustang with his money from working at the mill. The Mancusos are just busy being the Mancusos.”
He smiled. “Tell them all hello for me. Or goodbye, in this case. So you got a place in mind for lunch?” he asked. “Let’s get you out of this cold.”
Already, Annalisa could sense them falling back into step with one another, finding that ease and comfort that she missed so badly.
She led him to a new hot spot that had just opened up near Pride’s, the kind of place she never could have afforded when she’d first moved here. Well-dressed and chatty men and women on their lunch breaks filled the twenty tables of this French bistro.
“So did Tigerland turn you into a tiger?” she asked, as he pushed her chair in. He seemed to be the same gentleman he’d always been, maybe even more so.
He settled into his seat and pulled a napkin into his lap. “You would never believe it. Shall I show you my new skills?” He started to stand, as if he were going to perform some sort of silly kung fu move.
“Please don’t,” she pleaded, looking around.
They shared a wonderful smile, these two tigers still circling each other as if destiny would never allow otherwise.
“We had some good times, didn’t we?” she said, thinking that they’d been the best of times.
As they dined on haddock with mashed potatoes and haricot verts, they laughed like they hadn’t missed a beat in the more than six months since they’d seen each other. He wanted to know everything about her life, and she happily shared, feeling so joyful to show him that she’d achieved her dream. He was still the same good listener and might not have talked about himself at all had she not prodded him with questions.
His life was the army life now, and he told her everything about his training as a soldier, learning to march and to fire M16s and shoot mortar rounds. Half his speak was so foreign to her, but she understood enough to know that this man that she . . . loved was turning into a soldier just as his best friend, Mitch, had done. He told her that he’d heard Mitch was fighting somewhere near the Laotian border.
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.