The Singing Trees by Boo Walker
Chapter 36
TURNING BACK TIME
In February of 1973, Walt told Annalisa that it was time for him to retire and that he had found a nursing home. The old Annalisa might have thought of herself first, of how she had just lost her place to live and work. But she didn’t.
She was rearranging several paintings, making room for a few more she’d done during a recent prolific burst, most likely brought on by her excitement about Nixon signing the Paris Peace Accords the month prior, when Walt stunned her with this admission.
“What are you talking about?” She set down the canvas in her hands and leaned it against the wall.
“It’s too much.” He sat on the leather couch that faced the west wall. She’d painted it white, which she thought was a wonderful contradiction to Walt’s blacks and browns on the other side. He coughed hard into his handkerchief. “It’s time I hang up my career and take my next steps. I’ve found a good place that’ll be just fine.”
Each cough broke her heart. As much as she did see the youth in his eyes, his body had gone downhill, and not only his lungs. He’d slowed down and couldn’t stand for very long without starting to wobble. His hands shook constantly.
“That’s such a big change. Are you sure? This shop has been your life.”
“And life moves on.” The ticking clocks seemed to verify that fact.
The implications of his statement made her frown, but knowing she would never convince him otherwise, she said, “You know I need to approve. You deserve the best place in the area.”
“It’ll do. A little place in Scarborough.”
Annalisa waved a finger. “No, no, no. Give me time to do some research.”
A sigh. “If you insist.”
“It goes without saying.” She sat next to him. “Have you told Nonna?”
Walt nodded solemnly, taking a labored breath. How heartbreaking it must be for her grandmother, Annalisa thought.
Putting an arm over his shoulders, she said, “Maybe we’ll move her into the room next door. Or get you two a private villa with a Jacuzzi. Even a view of the water.”
He glanced over before setting his eyes on one of the paintings. “As much as I’d like that, your grandmother will outlive me by forty years.”
“Even the grim reaper is afraid of her.”
He chuckled. “Even him, yes.”
“This must be very hard, Walt.” She pulled him in and leaned her head against his forehead, wishing their time together in the shop didn’t have to end. What would she do without seeing him bent over his desk, peering through his spectacles at a watch, tossing out grumpy comments?
He wrapped his arm around her, patting her back. “I’m working my way through it.” She could smell his age in his breath. After a pause, he said, “I’m not going to sell the building, Anna. Don’t worry. You’ll have a place to live, and I’ve thought about the shop. If you’d like to continue, I’d love that. There are plenty of watches and clocks to sell, which could keep you busy for a while until you convert the whole place into your gallery.”
They let go of each other, and she stood to face him. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, caught up on the idea of not seeing him every day.
“I’m not worried about you. No one needs to worry about you, but I do want to help. That’s why I’m going to leave you and Nonna the building when I pass.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t leave us the building.” A wave of tremendous love came over her as his enormous gesture registered.
“As a point of fact, I can. It’s mine. I won’t have any use of it where I’m going.”
“Oh, don’t go talking about dying.” Annalisa couldn’t stand thinking such terrible thoughts. She’d had enough death poison her life. As strong as she felt lately, losing him shook her foundation.
He breathed in and coughed into his napkin again. “Nothing would make me happier than knowing you three are set up after I go. You can keep running the shop, and you’ll have a free place to stay, and the rent from the other tenants should help too. If you don’t want to keep the shop, fine. Rent it out. If you don’t want to keep the building, sell it. I’m not leaving it as a burden. I’m leaving it to you, because it’s what I want to do. It makes me happy.”
Annalisa wiped the tears of appreciation dripping down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”
He scoffed. “You mean for once I’ve knocked all the words out of you?”
“I don’t want you to leave.” Feeling the burn in her cheeks, she whispered, “I don’t want you to go.”
Annalisa had already known too much death in her life, and she couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Walt, but as he sat there, coughing and talking of his plans, she felt grateful for the time they’d shared already, and she committed to focusing on their time together going forward.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “I’d like to give you my Plymouth.”
“Oh, stop, Walt. You can still drive.”
He shook his head. “Unless you want me to give it to Mrs. Eleby, it’s yours.”
Another long tear escaped, sneaking down her neck and settling under her blouse. She felt his pain and also Nonna’s, thinking that her grandmother would have to say goodbye to the second love of her life. How awful.
They were interrupted by a new customer, and the two of them went back to work. It was a woman who’d seen one of Annalisa’s pieces at a friend’s house and just had to get something for herself.
She left a while later with two paintings, and Annalisa thought that watching a customer walk out the door happy was as satisfying as dipping her bristles into paint.
When the bell above the door chimed again, Annalisa pulled herself away from the thoughts of losing Walt and readied herself for another sale.
“May I help—” she started and stopped.
Jackie Burton stepped into the shop. Her blackberry hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore a black sweater and a red wool skirt. “I thought I’d better come see who was stealing my customers.”
Annalisa smiled and approached the curator, who’d in many ways started her journey. “I’m so happy you’re here.” Then she dipped her chin. “It’s only just a few customers.”
Jackie looked around, and Annalisa proudly admired what she and Walt had created. The right side of the shop was still covered in timepieces. On the walls behind the displays full of world-class watches hung the wall clocks and cuckoo clocks. Walt sat at his bench in the far back behind the cash register, tinkering. The center of the room still featured the grandmother and grandfather clocks, each of them exquisite and rare. And then there was Annalisa’s gallery, which was slowly taking over.
Jackie walked that way, crossing onto the Oriental rug that served to establish the gallery as its own room. “I never could have imagined. Everyone keeps telling me about the gallery in the clock shop.” She took her time inspecting—and perhaps admiring—each piece on the wall.
Annalisa told her about each artist, like the incredibly talented Jenan McClain from Burlington, who finger painted landscapes that made Annalisa want to jump into them, and the slightly loopy Mark Salvarino, who had developed an amazingly strong voice as an abstract expressionist under Sharon Maxwell’s tutelage.
Then Jackie set her eyes on Annalisa’s pieces, all variations on the theme of love. People loving people. She stopped on a painting Annalisa had just finished that morning. In fact, the paint was still drying. It featured a line of women and children standing on the tarmac at an airport, holding a giant WELCOME HOME banner.
The news had been covering the return home of soldiers from Vietnam as part of Operation Homecoming, and she’d been enthralled by this sight several days earlier. And, of course, she’d been leveled by all these images, as she had once wished that she would be welcoming her soldier back from the war. It wasn’t hard to slide into the skin of those holding the banner, the minutes ticking toward a reunion; the act of painting them was one of the many steps she still took on the long journey to healing her heart.
Resting her elbow in the opposite palm, Jackie pinched her chin and studied the painting. Annalisa stepped away, letting the curator do her thing.
When Jackie turned, she said, “Annalisa Mancuso. You’ve done it, haven’t you?”
“I’m working at it.”
“You always will be, but you have, no doubt, found your voice. I’m simply stunned.”
A wave of contentment settled over Annalisa as she remembered her seventeen-year-old self walking into this woman’s gallery with her orange tote.
“And I must say,” Jackie added, “your eye as a curator is impressive. A clock shop and gallery. Who would have thought?”
Annalisa beamed. “That means the world to me, Jackie.”
“I know you’re doing well, but if you ever did want me to represent you, I’d be more than honored. Your work would be stunning on my walls.”
What a long hard road she’d traveled to get here, Annalisa thought, allowing herself a pat on her own back. “Thank you. If you only knew how much your offer means to me, but . . . I think, for now at least, I’m going to stay here and see what happens. I’m having so much fun.”
Jackie gave a knowing grin as she took another peek at the wall. “It is fun, isn’t it? Well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind. Sharon told me you’ll be showing in April. I couldn’t be more proud.” She started back toward the door.
Annalisa followed her, saying, “You had something to do with that, you know? I’ll never forget meeting with you at your gallery when I was seventeen. Even though you told me no, you gave me what I needed to press on.”
Jackie glanced back at her. “You always had what you needed to press on. I’m just bearing witness to a wonderful artist coming into her own.”
At that moment, the clocks and watches struck noon.
“I knew you couldn’t retire,” Annalisa said, seeing the box of watches Walt had fixed. It was now the first week of April, and the United States had finally withdrawn all troops from Vietnam. Walt had been living in a nursing home she’d found for him in Freeport, which was much closer to Nonna anyway. To her delight, Annalisa had learned that Nonna visited Walt even more than Annalisa and Celia did.
Annalisa tried to come up at least twice a week, and she’d always bring him a box of watches to fix. Every visit, she’d retrieve the repaired ones and leave a new batch.
“It gives me something to do up here,” Walt said, resting in his bed. Annalisa had done her best to brighten up the room with flowers and paintings from some of her other artist friends. A framed picture of Nonna rested on the bedside table. On the wall by the door hung the painting Annalisa had done of the two of them kissing under his awning.
He’d become so weak that he spent most of his days horizontally, aside from his morning adventure with a walker out to the back patio. He’d lost twenty pounds, which he could ill afford, and his skin sagged on his face and arms. Still, his mind was sharp.
“Hey, you,” Walt told Celia, who was now walking and talking, “get up and give me a hug.”
“You hear Wawa?” Annalisa said to Celia, lifting her up.
“Wawa,” Celia said, landing on the bed with a smile and reaching for him.
Walt wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sprouting, aren’t you, little one? What a joy this is.”
Celia reached for an ear and tugged at it.
“They’re big, aren’t they?” he asked.
Annalisa snickered, thinking that Celia was a ball of light, brightening up the world around her.
Walt sat up and put Celia on his lap, and they conversed for a while—or as best as they could with her limited vocabulary. He was great at making her laugh, and Annalisa found herself so grateful that her daughter had gotten a chance to get to know him.
After putting her in the chair, facing Sesame Street on the television, Annalisa lifted up a white bag.
“Are you getting tired of these yet?” She had brought him a cinnamon bun from the farmers’ market every week since the market had opened in April.
Walt opened the bag and the sweet scent filled the room. “I doubt they make them this good in heaven.” He took a bite with his eyes closed, relishing the flavors.
“You should see the shop,” she said. He hadn’t been down there in weeks.
“I would love to.”
“You’d be very happy.” She still hadn’t changed the name of the shop, but other than the few watches Walt was fixing, Annalisa had let go of the repair side of the business. At his urging, she’d made room for even more art, and along with her own, she was now selling art for seven different artists, along with a steady rotation of watches and clocks.
“Maybe we can go by after your show?” he asked.
“You really don’t have to come down for it,” she said, thinking that he surely didn’t want to deal with the hassle.
“You must be joking. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. After what you’ve done to get there.”
She patted his hand. “Would you ride with Nino and Nonna?”
“What a pleasure it would be.” He’d lost so much of his grumpiness lately, and she thought he might have found his nirvana in the last year.
Walt pointed to his jacket on a coatrack. “Do me a favor and hand me my pocket watch.”
Once she’d retrieved the Waltham for him, he looked at it and then up at her. “I want you to have this.”
She gasped, once again in awe of his love. “Don’t do that. You’ve given me enough.”
“Who else would I give it to?” He took her hand and put the pocket watch in her palm, closing it. “There was a time after Gertrude died, before you walked into my shop, when I thought my time was up. It’s funny. You fix timepieces all your life, and you become one with them, one tick after another. Your whole life abides by the hands swinging around. But then you showed up and everything changed. I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but you gave the horologist more time. You gave me a reason to live. When you hold this watch from now on, remember that you have the ability to turn back time. Not many are able to do that.”
Annalisa sniffled. “I’ll cherish it.” This was a goodbye she couldn’t handle, and she wished that he could keep fighting for a few more years.
“If I might offer a little advice,” he said. “You give so much to those around you. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. I do hope that one day you’ll give love a second chance.”
Annalisa tittered. “Don’t do this.”
Walt lowered his glasses down his nose and peered over them. “Thomas made a big mistake. The biggest in his life, and he’ll pay for it. One day he’ll know it and come begging. Don’t go taking him back.”
“No, Walt, I won’t.” She held up the watch, seeing Thomas’s face in the reflection of the silver. “But I don’t hate or hold any grudges.” In fact, as much as it hurt to admit, she still loved him. She didn’t say that, though.
“The war changes people,” she continued, “and I think he must have lost his way. Who knows? Maybe I’ll tell him about Celia one day, but no, I won’t ever take him back. After what I’ve been through, I’m not sure I have enough in me to give a relationship like that another shot.”
Walt lowered his voice. “Anna, one day a man is going to come along, and you’ll forget all about Thomas.”
She looked back at Celia, who was lost in the world of Big Bird and Kermit. “Between you and Celia and my family, I have all the love I need.”
He stumbled into a cough. “Humor an old man and say yes the next time a guy asks you out. Will you do that?”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s my dying wish.”
“Oh, c’mon. First of all, you still have some fight left in you. Second, don’t ‘dying wish’ me. That’s something Nonna would do. Don’t let her rub off on you.”
“It’s true, young lady. There’s nothing I want more for you than to find love again. Promise me you’ll say yes when the time is right.”
Annalisa glared at him, knowing damn well that if and when a man did ask her out again, she’d have to say yes.
For Walt.
And the idea terrified her.