Page 67 of The Singing Trees
“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 hersmade 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 herekicking 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 shenevercould 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 ifhurtwas 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?
