Page 7 of The Singing Trees
Nonna shut off the water and turned, drying her hands on the apron wrapped around her little waist. “I see.” Her short white curly hair sometimes looked to be a pale shade of lavender in the right light, and a mole above her right eyebrow called attention to her receding hairline. She wore thick-framed black glasses that were decades out of fashion.
“But you’d be proud of me,” Annalisa said. “I’m not letting it get me down. She really was excited, says I’m very talented.” She hoped Nonna was in a good enough mood to hear what was coming next.
“Of course you’ll be a big deal,” Nonna agreed, always one of her biggest fans. Long before Annalisa had lost her parents and moved to the Mills, Nonna had started the single largest collection of Annalisa art in the world. Now nearly every wall was covered. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re good before you’ll believe me?”
Here goes nothing,Annalisa thought. “She said something else too.”
Nonna’s eyes narrowed. “What now?”
“She says I need to move to Portland. That’s the only way I can get any better.”
Nonna reached up and grabbed a handful of her own hair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this again.”
“Yes, this again.” Her grandmother should have gone to Hollywood with her drama skills. To give her credit, though, she had a long list of reasons she’d always discouraged the idea, but it came down to the fact Annalisa’s father had picked up his drinking habit in Portland.
“Jackie’s right,” Annalisa pressed, hoping this time to convince Nonna. “How else am I going to get better?”
“It’s not your location that makes you a better painter. It’s hard work.”
“And enriching experiences,” Annalisa argued. “Great teachers. New scenery.”
Nonna brushed her hand through the air. “There are plenty of teachers here. You just don’t like any of them.”
“Oh, you’re right. Mr.O’Ryan is amazing.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of her high school art teacher, tapping into her own dramatic potential.
“If you want a new teacher,” Nonna said, “maybe we can find someone in Davenport. Nino can take you to lessons.”
Davenport was no doubt beautiful—and certainly ritzier—but just like the Mills, it was a long way from the real world. “So I can paintrocky cliffs and lobsters and lighthouses in between my bridge group and spa session? No thank you. I want to be in Portland, where the action is. I need some grit, some reality. I’m tired of living in a bubble.”
Nonna reached for a hand towel and began to dry the dishes on the side of the sink. “So you mean where the derelicts are? Is that it?”
Annalisa’s whole body drooped. “Oh my God. Says every Mainer north of Portland. You all think the rest of the world is crazy.” This is exactly what made her unglued about small-town Maine. It was alwaysusversusthem.
“It is,” Nonna assured her, stacking one dry plate atop another. “The world is a dangerous place. Believe me. And Payton Mills isn’t as bad as you make it out to be.”
“I’m not going to end up like my father, Nonna. I’m not going down there to party. And as far as Payton Mills...to me it’s hell on earth.” As quickly as she’d said it, she regretted her words.
Smacking down the wooden spoon she’d just dried, Nonna said through gritted teeth, “Watch your mouth. This place is your roots. Never forget that.”
“Trust me,” Annalisa said, trying not to react, “I won’t. And I’m sorry I said that. It’s just that everyone is in everyone’s business. I can’t sneeze without the whole family discussing it. The whole town, even. And no one wants to admit there’s a whole world out there with people that have different views...views that aren’t all wrong.”
Nonna’s forehead wrinkled as she set down the towel and turned. “One day you’ll realize that nothing is more important than family, and you’ll regret hating the Mills like you do.” Then she poked Annalisa’s head. “Sometimes it’s what’s in here that’s causing the problem.”
Annalisa sighed; Nonna was theonlyone on earth who could get away with poking her in such a way. “It always comes back to family, doesn’t it? Our family is great, but I need some space every once in a while. You might not understand it, but I have to go. I’m going to keepsaving every dime I can, and I’m going to paint every darn minute, and when I graduate next year, I am moving to Portland.”
“I don’t know about that,” Nonna said.
“It won’t be your decision. I’ll be eighteen.” Annalisa softened. “But I can’t bear leaving without your blessing. Maybe I’ll come back, but I know I have to go.”
Nonna crossed her arms and glared at her. More than once Annalisa had joked that Nixon should send Nonna to Vietnam if he really wanted to rid the world of communism. This was exactly why. It was a good thing Annalisa never brought boys home, because they couldn’t have gotten through the door before scurrying away in fear.
With the glare frozen on her face, Nonna asked, “So you’re going to move to Portland with your ice-cream savings?”
For more than a year now, Annalisa had been working at Harry’s General Store, scooping ice cream and weighing candy. “And from selling everything I paint between now and then to anyone who will give me a couple of dollars. I’ll shack up in a deserted warehouse in the Old Port if I have to.”
“I forbid it!” Nonna snapped, coming alive like a soldier snapping to attention.
Annalisa stood her ground. “You can’t. I’m not letting anyone hold me back. That’s exactly what my father did to my mother.”
