Page 76 of The Singing Trees
Annalisa squealed so loudly that both Walt and Nonna turned, but Annalisa was able to duck behind the corner of a building before they could see her.
It was a quick glimpse she had of the two, their happy faces and lonely lips meeting one another under the warm and filtered yellow of the streetlight above them, but it was long enough for the image to imprint like fingers in warm wax into Annalisa’s memory.
As she watched Walt escort Nonna to the steps, Annalisa felt like a veil had been pulled from her eyes. What kind of fool was she to think that her love for Thomas was getting in the way? He wasn’t her father, and she wasn’t like her mother. He’d done nothing but support her, and she knew he always would. All she had to do was have faith in him. And in herself. No one would ever pry the brush from her hands.
With this newfound clarity, she realized that she didn’t even own a bathing suit, and she was going to need one. Because she was getting on that damn plane to go see Thomas, no matter the cost or consequences. Enough of letting fear win. A life without love was not worth living.
Almost equally as powerful as her pull to Thomas was her urge to get in front of her easel to capture what she’d just seen. She could so clearly see the faces of these two people who had buried their first loves now finding love again, and she realized how important love truly was—no matter the risks.
No, she couldn’t bury her love for Thomas for one more minute.
Modigliani’s words rang in her ears: “When I know your soul, I will paint your eyes.” She felt a deep, visceral connection to both Walt’s and Nonna’s souls, and now she could paint their eyes. How could she ever forget seeing Nonna standing on her toes in her orthopedic shoes, reaching up for the lips on Walt’s wrinkled and dazzled face, his loving eyes?
Not wanting to interrupt their moment, Annalisa circled the block before ascending the stairs to her apartment. She found yet another smile when she saw that Nonna wasn’t home. Was she spending the night with Walt?
Deciding to write Thomas back in the morning, Annalisa went straight to the studio in her bedroom and went to work on the imageof Walt and Nonna, knowing beyond all doubt that it would be the finest piece of her entire life. She worked through the night, taking nary a break until after the sun had risen and only when she heard her front door open and shut.
She chose not to pick on Nonna for wearing the same clothes as the night before and instead tugged her grandmother into the bedroom to show her the piece Annalisa had spent all night working on. This one she’d done on canvas, and it captured the entire scene, from the top of the awning that readWALTBURZINSKI’SWATCH ANDCLOCKREPAIRall the way down to Nonna’s feet up on their toes. Right smack in the middle were their lips touching in quite possibly the most beautiful vision Annalisa had ever experienced.
She thought Nonna might snap at her for spying, but she did no such thing. Instead, her lower lip pushed out, and she turned to Annalisa. “It’s ... it’s wonderful,nipotina.”
Annalisa’s heart soared, and she knew that she’d found her voice by looking through the lens of love, and she knew she could never stop painting—even if she never made another dime. She also knew that not only could love and art coexist, but that art—at least her art—required love just as pasta required a sauce and just as she required Thomas in her life.
She crossed her arms. “I have to tell you something, Nonna.”
Nonna slapped her own forehead. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph ... what is it now?”
“Thomas wrote me and has asked that I come visit him in Hawaii while he’s on leave. In May.”
Annalisa didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect, but she was pleased that Nonna didn’t instantly scold her. After a brief moment of thought, her grandmother said, “And are you going?”
As if someone had asked her if she would be interested in having wine and cheese with Michelangelo, she nodded the strongest yes of her life. “Seeing you with Walt last night ... it woke me up. I’ve beenso freaked out that I’d end up like my mother, but I’ve never really let myself consider that I could get lucky and end up like you. I know losing Nonno almost killed you, but I know it was worth the pain to have him in your life. And now you have Walt, and it’s ... it’s so beautiful.”
Annalisa breathed in her rich feelings for Thomas, and she burned with an urge to race to Vietnam and track him down and tell him that she’d finally figured it out, that not only could love and art live in parallel but she could only realize her true potential with him in her life.
“I love Thomas, Nonna. Like you loved Nonno and maybe how you feel about Walt. And as much as I’ve tried to be smart about it, and carry on without him, it’s not working. I don’t want a life without him in it. He’s my everything.”
Nonna crossed her arms, and Annalisa feared the worst. But her grandmother once again surprised her. “Then you’d better go find him and tell him how you feel.”
Annalisa’s eyes widened, and her mouth popped open. “Really?”
Nonna gave a mild chuckle. “If it’s been this long and you still can’t shake him, then maybe it’s time to let yourself love him instead.”
The hairs on her arms rose, and her spine tingled. Though she was going to Hawaii no matter what the outcome of this conversation, Nonna’s support validated both her feelingsandher decision. Stepping toward her grandmother, she wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight.
After leaving a travel agent to discuss a ticket to Hawaii, Annalisa found Sharon Maxwell at her warehouse space. She had red hair now and was deep into working on a piece on a massive canvas. Annalisa felt bad disturbing her, but she couldn’t go another minute without sharing her latest breakthrough—and, of course, apologizing.
She knocked on the door, and Sharon put down her brush to answer. Annalisa glanced down at her tote, wondering if Sharon would even want to see what she’d done. Or if she even wanted to see Annalisa.
“I was wondering if I’d ever see you again,” Sharon said, her smock covered in wet splotches of reds and purples. A large sparkly beaded necklace hung from her neck.
Annalisa realized how much she’d missed her teacher. Perhaps the biggest of those lessons Sharon had taught her was right at the end, when she’d said that Annalisa’s women were empty.
“I’m sorry, Sharon. I don’t even know what to say. I was a brat and a know-it-all.”
Sharon opened the door wider, almost as if she’d been waiting on Annalisa. “Do you think I’ve never walked out of a lesson before? It’s the artists who don’t lose their temper that sadden me, because they are the ones who don’t care.”
“I care so much,” Annalisa confessed, feeling like she was about to go to her knees. “All I want is to be great. Not for anyone else but for me. I want to know that I’ve done something with my life and the little bit of talent I’ve been given.”
