Page 40 of The Singing Trees
Nonna patted her back, but Annalisa could tell she wanted to get back to cleaning. Losing her granddaughter to Portland would not be easy.
But that wasn’t enough reason to stay, Annalisa knew. Either choice would have consequences. As she closed her eyes to find the quiet inside, she knew there was no decision to be made at all. Her love for Thomas was stronger than any feeling she’d ever known, and she’d hate herself forever if she didn’t fully leap into his arms.
If he was willing to risk it all, then she was too.
Chapter 13
SHARONMAXWELL’SSILVEREYES
When Annalisa first looked at Sharon Maxwell, she felt like she was laying eyes on someone from out of this world. The antithesis of Payton Mills in every way, she wasn’t only an artist; she was art itself. Her flamboyant dress made Annalisa want to throw away her own entire wardrobe.
Sharon’s long white hair had a streak of purple dye running through it and was held back by a purple headband. She wore giant turquoise earrings that matched the color of her dress, which was more like a layer of fabrics elegantly draped over her generous body. Her large loop scarf was designed with bright peacock feather patterns that didn’t quite match the turquoise but worked in the most dazzling of ways.
And her silver eyes and confident smile ... so soothing. Annalisa had never seen a woman so comfortable in her body and with whom she was as a woman. Her magnetism pulled at Annalisa, literally forcing her to stare as Sharon entertained the people circled around her. She was by no means beautiful but certainly striking, and even Thomas was drawn to her.
It was a few minutes past one in the afternoon, and Annalisa and Thomas had been walking through Sharon’s warehouse space off Exchange Street, staring at exorbitantly priced and miraculouspieces—many of them very counterculture and risqué—from all over New England. Annalisa would graduate in six weeks, and then this art life would be her life, and she could barely stand the wait.
They were in the Old Port, which was the sketchier part of Portland, mostly made up of old shipping warehouses that had long stood empty. Annalisa had once joked to Nonna that she would slum it in one of these if she couldn’t afford a proper place to live after her move. Sharon made the whole block hip, though, and had transformed the giant first floor into a gallery and studio, making Annalisa both inspired and jealous.
Never had she considered the idea of owning a gallery, despite her mother wanting to open one, but being here now showed the appeal. Sharon had it all: her own abstract works (which Annalisa had decided were absolutely brilliant) hung on one of the brick walls of the enormous room, but on the other walls hung the pieces she’d curated throughout the year. The woman’s eye was beyond reproach, and Annalisa thought that maybe the skills of being a great curator could almost match the skills of a great artist. Or perhaps you had to be a great artist before you could be a great curator.
Sharon’s studio, which was open for perusing, was an artist’s dream. Annalisa began to see for the first time the beauty of abstract expressionism, perhaps because she caught a glimpse of Sharon’s less abstract works as well. Annalisa had read so many times that you had to learn the rules before you could break them. It could be said that Sharon had earned her right to chase the abstract after mastering the basics.
“Go talk to her,” Thomas said, poking her in the side.
“I don’t want to bug her,” Annalisa said, feeling butterflies flutter in her stomach as she looked past one of the brick columns that served to break up the vastness of the space.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “She should be nervous to talk to you.”
She slipped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek and thanked him. “I just want her to ask me to be a part of this show. That’s what I want more than anything.”
With eyes she hoped to wake next to one day soon, he said, “Then that’s what you’ll get.”
Her mind spun as she saw the prices written on cards under each painting. She imagined such a wonderfully fulfilling life ahead of her, one where she could do exactly what she was meant to do while making enough money to remove the worry about her financial situation. She wasn’t ashamed of being poor, but she did crave a world where her decisions were not always based on money in the bank.
In this moment she felt so incredibly fulfilled, both as an artist and as a woman. She hadn’t yet told Thomas that she wanted him to come to Portland, but as they’d stridden through the city before the show, and now, as they shared their thoughts on each piece, she was beyond sure she wanted him there. This moment was so much bigger because he was with her.
“Annalisa,” said a voice from around another brick column. “So easy to remember, sounds like Mona Lisa.” Jackie Burton, the curator with the blackberry hair who’d first told her about this show, approached.
“It’s so nice to see you,” Annalisa said. “Thank you for telling me about this show. I’m so jazzed.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jackie dragged her finger through the air, pointing at some of the pieces. “Maybe one day your pieces will be on this wall.”
Annalisa touched her own chest, thinking that would be a lottery ticket win for her heart. She introduced Jackie to Thomas, and the three of them moved away from the traffic to speak.
Jackie told them of a few pieces they couldn’t miss and then asked, “Have you spoken with Sharon yet?”
“I haven’t gotten a chance,” Annalisa said, not wanting to confess that she was too intimidated.
Jackie opened up her arms. “You know she’s going to start teaching some classes in here? That arenotaffiliated with the college.”
“What?” Annalisa felt like someone had just handed her the final piece to the puzzle of her life.
“Yeah, you should sign up. Like right now. I don’t know if she has any spaces open, but she’s a great teacher.”
Forget the intimidation; she was about to bulldoze her way across the room. “Would you mind introducing me?”
“Let’s do it.” Jackie started directly toward Sharon. Annalisa whispered to Thomas that she’d be right back and then raced after her, thinking that if the classes were full, she’d simply have one of the students murdered. Not in a mean way, a gentle murder without any pain. No way she would miss out on this opportunity.
