Page 31 of The Singing Trees
“Annalisa,” Bill said, “into which colleges have you been accepted?”
She heard an agenda in his tone. “Not any, actually. I...” She didn’t want to admit that there was no money for college. Her father had amassed severe debt by the time he’d died, so she had no inheritance, and the rest of the family certainly didn’t have the money. That was none of Mr.Barnes’s business, though. “I’m an artist, a painter, so I didn’t think college would be necessary.”
“I see.” Making his own assumptions, he said, “I hear they toss scholarships around like candy to you Payton Mills kids. I’m surprised to hear you wouldn’t take advantage. Surely you have more to learn as far as art goes.”
“I’ll always have more to learn; that’s for sure.” She wondered how the other guests would feel if she sprang across the table and stabbed Bill with the crab fork, or whatever they called that stupid shiny silver fork in the lineup to the left of her plate. How quickly the energy of the table had changed.
“She’s moving to Portland,” Emma said, saving her.
“That’s right,” Annalisa admitted. “I’m finally breaking out of Payton Mills and moving to the city.”
“To do what?” Bill asked. “What does one do without a degree?”
She deflected his jab. “I’m not convinced an artist needs a degree.”
“Oh my,” Mrs.Barnes chimed in. “How brave of you. What kind of things do you paint?”
Annalisa flashed a smile, thankful to talk about what she loved. “I moved to acrylics a while ago but learned with oils from my mother. I’m hoping a move to Portland will help me home in on my voice.”
“She’s very talented,” Thomas said, giving Annalisa a boost.
She gave Thomas a smile of thanks and then continued. “I’m looking forward to city life. Exploring, you know. Being independent.” As if he were listening in on the conversation, the pianist started an extra-lively version of “Jingle Bells.”
“Without a degree,” Bill mused, “but with a brush she goes. That’s what the world needs: more artists.” He followed his words with a subtly mean chortle that doused out the joy of the melody springing from the piano.
Annalisa stiffened, thinking Mr.Barnes was no different from her own father, who’d said similar things. She heard the patrons at the bar laughing at something, which made her even more uncomfortable.
“Oh, Bill,” Mrs.Barnes said. “Leave her alone. I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of finding work.”
He raised defensive hands. “I was just asking.”
“Well, you’re living up to your reputation of being a jackass, Dad,” Thomas said.
“Thomas,” Elizabeth whispered sharply, casting an eye toward the closest table to them, where an older couple sat in silence, probably pretending not to listen in on this escalating fiasco. Then again, Annalisa thought these types of conversations were as abundant as hard dinner rolls in this dining room.
Under the table, Annalisa dug her fingernails into her thigh. “It’s fine. They’re good questions.” She reminded herself that no good would come of going to war with Mr.Barnes.
“Do you intend on marrying and having children?” Mr.Barnes asked. “That’s what Italians do, right? Breed and eat and breed. What aspirations does a girl from the Mills have? You want to be the next...what? Michelangelo? He was Italian, right?”
“I’m not sure that we Italians all share the exact aspirations,” Annalisa said with a bit of attitude, “and I’m trying not to make big decisions like that right now. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been cooped up all my life. I want to get out and fly, to see the things I’ve only read about. Maine seems so small to me sometimes. I want to see other cultures, meet other artists.” She reached for Thomas’s hand, the first time they’d shown any affection in front of Elizabeth and Bill. “But who knows?”
“I see.” Mr.Barnes straightened his collar, as if he was ready to return to the bar.
By the time their first course came, Annalisa was miserable and felt herself sweating under her dress. She’d been burned at the stake by questions designed to belittle her. If Mr.Barnes wasn’t careful, he was about to see the wrath of Annalisa Mancuso, and if it wasn’t for Thomasand her hope for a future with him, she would have already Frisbee’d a plate into his jugular.
Emma was off in space, staring through the Christmas tree into a world far away. Thomas had been doing his best to defend Annalisa, but Mr.Barnes was relentless.
As Annalisa blew at a hot spoonful of bisque, and the nutty aroma of sherry rose into the air, he wiped his mouth. “May I ask about your parents? When did you move in with your grandmother?” She’d mentioned her living situation a few moments earlier.
Oh, here we go,Annalisa thought. If only the rest of her family could see her now. The Mancusos had nothing on the Barneses when it came to interrogations.
Through gritted teeth, Thomas demanded, “Dad, can we give Annalisa a break? This is ridiculous.”
“It’s fine,” Annalisa said, dropping her spoonful of bisque back into the bowl with a ping. “We’re just getting to know each other.”
“That’s exactly right,” Mr.Barnes said. “We’ve worked hard to put Thomas in a position to be successful. It’s too early into his studies to be seriously dating. Your age, you fall in love and think you have itaaalllllfigured out.” He carried his “all” so long the soup had probably cooled before he’d moved on to the next word. “Next thing you know you’re walking down the aisle without a damn clue, ruining everything you’ve worked for.” He locked eyes with Annalisa. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She didn’t dare look away.
