The Singing Trees by Boo Walker
Chapter 32
THE DAYS (DAZE) AFTER
Leveled to the core, Annalisa collected the letter and the photograph, crumpled them up, and tossed them into the garbage. Nothing would ever be the same again in her life.
Half of her wished him here so that she could ask and understand why he’d done it, why he’d worked so hard to earn her trust and love—only to squash it in such horrid fashion. As the minutes ticked by, her anger turned so red inside that all she wanted to do was move on. She couldn’t sit with these feelings any longer. No, she wanted them all to go away, to cut them out just like the Barneses had just cut her out.
She wanted Thomas to go away.
Their baby kicked, reminding her of the one connection between them that could never be severed. How could he have done that to their child? Then she remembered he didn’t know about the baby. As angry as she was, she didn’t want to tell him. Ever.
Thinking about her baby’s future, she moved to the couch and curled up, holding her knees, searching for answers in the swell of fear. A need to protect her baby came over her. Ugly yet possible scenarios played out in her mind. She imagined the Barnes family with all their money somehow trying to take the baby. Mrs. Barnes had mentioned grandchildren enough. She imagined Linh raising Annalisa’s child. Or at the very worst, she imagined a life where she had to share her baby with Thomas and his family, shuffling the child back and forth every other week or weekend. Annalisa couldn’t bear that. She couldn’t take that risk.
There on the couch, still raw from the opening of that fateful envelope, she decided that she had to protect her baby from the agony of love and loss. She had to protect her baby from a man who was ultimately untrustworthy. And therefore she had to keep the baby a secret from the Barneses—all of them. All the anger that had replaced her sadness gave her strength. This was her baby, not his, and she couldn’t bring him into the world with a terrible father and an unloving family. No, Annalisa had been there. She couldn’t let her son live the same fate.
Not wanting to drag Walt into her plan, the first decision she made was to call Nino and enlist his help. She needed to return Thomas’s car and the ring he’d put on her finger. Her cousin had just gotten off work. Filling him in on what had happened, she asked, “Would you follow me to Davenport? I want to do it at night so I don’t have to speak to his family.”
“I told you he wasn’t good enough for you, cuz. Of course I’ll help.”
Annalisa thanked him and hung up. Her mind raced as she searched for Thomas’s car keys.
Love to fury in an instant. Thomas’s service in that god-awful war held her back from hating him. How could she blame him for losing his way in a world where such evil crimes were committed? She hated the circumstances and she hated the war, but maybe she didn’t hate Thomas.
But she couldn’t forgive him.
All she wanted to do was remove him from her life.
On the long drive to Payton Mills, she rode a wave peaking in fits of steering-wheel-hitting rage and bottoming out in miserable, gut-wrenching sobs.
Why had she been so dumb? Now everything was ruined. She’d come to not only accept but get excited about the pregnancy. It was part of their dream. Their dream. Now that he was gone, did it matter? She was back on her own, and how in the world could she make it? Her own stupidity and hope for love had put her back on a one-way track to being barefoot and pregnant in the Mills. How could she possibly raise a child alone in Portland? She had her hands full enough taking care of herself and Walt. She could have made it until Thomas’s return, but now she would be alone forever.
She met Nino at his house and gave him a quick hug. He tried to comfort her, but she wanted to focus only on the task at hand. When they reached the Barneses’ neighborhood, they exchanged vehicles. Once she had figured out how to operate his Mustang, Annalisa led him into the Barneses’ driveway. Only a few lights shined from the windows of the big white house. It was 9:00 p.m., and a strong salty wind rushed up from the cove.
Following her instructions, Nino pulled up behind Mr. Barnes’s Cadillac and left the yellow Beetle there. An envelope carrying the ring and a short note waited to be discovered on the passenger seat.
It’s over, Thomas. If you ever cared for me, please do not contact me again.
What else could she say? An explanation would have been nice, but not at the risk of losing her baby. She remembered how he’d respected her wish that he let them go when she’d first broken up with him as they walked through her neighborhood. Hopefully, he’d show the same decency after reading this note. The last thing she wanted was to hear his excuses. The proof was in the photograph.
Nino rushed back to the car, and she began to back away. In the rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Barnes coming out the front door. Annalisa knew he’d be pleased to see they’d finally gotten rid of the poor Italian girl.
It was the end, she thought, as the big white house disappeared from view. The end of her era with Thomas, with the VW, with Davenport. She’d never come back here again, and she couldn’t ever forgive him. And he would never know that his child would enter the world in February of 1972.
They pulled over, and Nino reclaimed the wheel. Driving back to the Mills, Nino showed his concern with questions that she wished she could answer, but ultimately, she was dead inside and didn’t have an answer for anything anymore.
“Wanna go get some beers?” he asked. “Are you staying the night?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m tired. I just want to get to my bed and never get out.”
He glanced at her. “I get it. So when you do get out, what will you do? You have to come back to the Mills. Let the family get involved.”
Annalisa had been thinking about it endlessly. It would be so easy to go back home, to surround herself by family, but that would make her a failure. Another woman with grand dreams knocked down by reality.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything was so perfect, and now this . . . the end. Thomas was supposed to be with me to raise our child. Together. A family. How can I do this alone? What kind of life could I give a child?”
“Knowing you, you’ll figure it out,” he said, trying to become her cheerleader.
She stared out the window at the trees whizzing by. “I’m right back where I was. Maybe I’m not meant to be a mother. That’s the truth of it. What if I screw it all up? I’ve screwed up so much already.”
“Don’t think that way,” Nino said. “You’ll be a great mom. Look at all our crazy aunts, running all over the place. If they can do it, you definitely can.”
“I’m not so sure. Walt is not feeling well these days, so I’m working like a dog. I don’t have enough savings to afford childcare. Girls like me can’t raise a child without a family, but the idea of going back to the Mills makes me . . .” She breathed in. “It makes me feel like a failure.”
“That’s the last thing you are, Annalisa. Why would you ever say that?” He was a terrible driver, swerving like he was drunk and much more focused on their conversation than their safety.
She glanced at him. “That’s exactly what I feel like, and everything around me is burning too. I just . . . it sounds awful to say, but maybe adoption would be best. For me and the baby.” Saying the word felt like a betrayal to the little one inside her. It made her sick, and she could already sense God and Nonna judging her. The decision was hers, though, and at that moment, it seemed like the only answer. She could give this baby to a family who could support and raise him or her the right way, giving it the life Annalisa had originally hoped to offer.
The deep woods of Maine seemed to offer no consolation, no answers. Was this place even her home anymore? She didn’t feel like a Mainer. She felt like an outsider. When the smokestacks of the mill came into view, she felt her father’s ghost fill the car.
“It’s your body and your decision,” Walt said on a frigid mid-December day, “but if you want to keep the baby, I’ll help you.” The city was lit up with Christmas lights, but for the first time in her life, Annalisa was far from festive.
She hated being a charity case, but he was insistent. “I’m not your problem, Walt. Lord knows you have plenty to look after with your health.”
Walt shot a serious look at her. “You’re anything but my problem. All I can say is that you should follow your heart. I’m not going to get in between you and your grandmother, as I’m sure she has her own opinions. Mine hardly matter.”
Nonna had taken the news of Thomas’s infidelity without any shade of surprise rising on her face. It was as if she’d seen so many bad things in her life that nothing shocked her anymore. That day when Annalisa had first told her, she’d clapped her hands and said, “Then you move back home, and we raise this baby together.”
Though she was endlessly grateful to Nonna for the offer, Annalisa had replied the same as always. “And give up?”
Walt coughed into a napkin. “You have options. That’s what matters. I suppose the right answer is waiting; you just need to find it.”
“Where in the world do I find the right answer?”
“You’re heartbroken, Anna. When you’re heartbroken, making decisions about the rest of your life feels impossible. Maybe you need to face your feelings of losing Thomas before you can decide what to do with your baby.”
It was all too much. She felt like everything was raining down on her. Walt and his COPD, Nonna getting older, a baby on the way. Thomas coming home.
As her problems poured over her, her being alone made the fight lose its worth. How would she ever paint again? Enough of the awful roller coasters involved with being an artist. It was time to consider hanging it up.
When the world entered 1972, all Annalisa could do was think of Thomas, wondering about his location and plans, wondering about this foreign girl with whom he’d fallen in love. Had he truly brought her home? Was she that much better than her? What had been his reaction when he’d returned to Davenport to find his car, the ring, and her note? Did he even care? Would he care that she was carrying his baby? The questions were a rusty anchor shackled to her ankle, pulling her down.
Her hurting was so bad that she dreamed about him, conjuring up scenes of what could have been. She could see him by her side, playing with their little boy. She saw the three of them sitting at the table, eating and laughing. She saw Thomas putting skis and skates on their son for the first time. Even when she wasn’t dreaming, she heard and saw things that weren’t there. Sometimes she’d hear the phone ring and know that it was him, but then it wouldn’t ring again. Sometimes she’d open her mailbox and see a letter with his handwriting, only to reach for it and realize it had been a mirage.
These thoughts—these feelings of still loving him despite his breach of trust—were driving her mad. He’d completely destroyed her life and hadn’t even had the decency to come find her and apologize. Moving on must have been easy for him. If only he knew what he’d done to her.
Always the good cousin, Nino had been spending a lot of time with her in Portland. Like Walt, he helped without asking anything in return, and those two men kept her from taking a stance against all the men in the world.
It was the fourth day of January and one of those rare winter nights when the temperature outside hovered around freezing and, for Mainers, was warm enough to sit outside with a blanket on their laps. For Annalisa, the cold served to numb the pain she couldn’t seem to shake.
Enjoying only one glass herself, she had opened a second bottle for Nino. He was hilarious when he drank, and their laughter spilled down onto the street. They’d pulled their chairs up next to each other so that they could share the blanket. The scent of charcoal and sizzling steaks came up from another building, a neighbor grilling out on their balcony.
“You wouldn’t have to live with Nonna,” he said. “You and I can get a place.”
“You want to live with me and a baby?” Annalisa asked. “What’s that going to do for your game?”
He shrugged. “Fair point. So when are you going back on the market? Don’t tell me you’re gonna retreat into your shell like the old days. The kid will need a dad.”
She wasn’t sure any kid needed a dad, though Nino’s father was a good man.
“I will never go back on the market,” she said. “You kidding me?”
“Oh, you’re just worried no one would want you, all ripe and plump like you are.”
Annalisa burst into a laugh and grabbed his shirt collar and raised a fist in jest. “I can’t believe you just called a pregnant woman ripe and plump.”
“Be careful; you’re going to make me spill my wine.” When she let go, he said, “Do you want me to lie? Then you wouldn’t believe me if I told you you’re still hot. Once you push that baby out of you, you’ll shrink right back to what you were.”
He was ridiculous. “I just hope I can start painting again. I thought I’d found my voice, but that turned out to be another false turn.” As if on cue, the wind chimes caught the breeze and rang. She thought that might be her mother telling her to quit feeling sorry for herself.
“You’re still sad. Give it time. You’ll pick it back up soon.”
“I’m open to it, but I can’t stand the thought of touching a brush. What would I paint? A big black canvas? I have nothing to say creatively.”
In an extraordinary act of kindness, Nino reached for her hand. “I think you need a hug.” He set the blanket on the back of the chair and pulled her up. She didn’t know how badly she needed a hug until he squeezed her tightly and she broke into tears. They held each other for a long time, and for a few moments, she didn’t feel lonely.
As the chimes continued to ring, though, she had this strange feeling that someone else was on the balcony with them, watching them. She let go of Nino, feeling almost afraid.
“You’ll get over it,” Nino said, sitting back down. “You’ve been up and down all your . . .”
Annalisa wasn’t listening anymore because she’d glanced down toward the street and swore that she’d seen Thomas. Only for a moment, and by the time she’d leaned toward the railing to get a better look, he was gone.
Or maybe it was just the glass of wine and heartache.
“You’re not even listening to me,” Nino said.
She took her eyes away from the street, sat back down, and pulled the blanket back over her.
“My point is,” he said, “move back home and start painting again. Forget about him.”
She shivered. “In case you’ve forgotten, his baby is inside of me.”
“Find another rich guy and move on. And if he turns out to be a jerk, divorce him and take his money.”
Nino really had it all figured out, she thought. “Why in the world do I need to find anyone? I’m happier alone. The last thing I want is to feel like this again. You focus on you. Why aren’t you married?”
“I’m trying; believe me.” He reached for the bottle of Chianti and refilled his glass.
“You’d be a good dad,” she told him.
“You’ll be a good mom.”
“I don’t know,” Annalisa said, feeling her mind slip back to the possibility of adoption. It wasn’t too late to give her child a better footing in life. Talk about failure, though. How could she ever paint again if she knew she’d sent a child out there to fight the world alone?
“You’re going to keep it, right?” Nino asked, sensing her thoughts.
“I still don’t know.” Annalisa pulled off the blanket and stood. She leaned against the railing and tickled the chimes with her hands. Looking down, she saw that a man had exited the phone booth and was attempting to hail a cab. The Leaning Tower of Treeza had shed all its leaves and was dressed in a dusting of snow. She could hear the sad sound of a sax coming from a club a block down, and for some reason the brassy sound made her feel so old. Just last year, she was in love and free and not pregnant, and the world was full of opportunity. She was alone and pregnant and lost.