Page 91 of The Singing Trees
“Oh, you’re just worried no one would want you, all ripe and plump like you are.”
Annalisa burst into a laugh and grabbed his shirt collar and raised a fist in jest. “I can’t believe you just called a pregnant woman ripe and plump.”
“Be careful; you’re going to make me spill my wine.” When she let go, he said, “Do you want me to lie? Then you wouldn’t believe me if I told you you’re still hot. Once you push that baby out of you, you’ll shrink right back to what you were.”
He was ridiculous. “I just hope I can start painting again. I thought I’d found my voice, but that turned out to be another false turn.” As if on cue, the wind chimes caught the breeze and rang. She thought that might be her mother telling her to quit feeling sorry for herself.
“You’re still sad. Give it time. You’ll pick it back up soon.”
“I’m open to it, but I can’t stand the thought of touching a brush. What would I paint? A big black canvas? I have nothing to say creatively.”
In an extraordinary act of kindness, Nino reached for her hand. “I think you need a hug.” He set the blanket on the back of the chair and pulled her up. She didn’t know how badly she needed a hug until he squeezed her tightly and she broke into tears. They held each other for a long time, and for a few moments, she didn’t feel lonely.
As the chimes continued to ring, though, she had this strange feeling that someone else was on the balcony with them, watching them. She let go of Nino, feeling almost afraid.
“You’ll get over it,” Nino said, sitting back down. “You’ve been up and down all your...”
Annalisa wasn’t listening anymore because she’d glanced down toward the street and swore that she’d seen Thomas. Only for a moment, and by the time she’d leaned toward the railing to get a better look, he was gone.
Or maybe it was just the glass of wine and heartache.
“You’re not even listening to me,” Nino said.
She took her eyes away from the street, sat back down, and pulled the blanket back over her.
“My point is,” he said, “move back home and start painting again. Forget about him.”
She shivered. “In case you’ve forgotten, his baby is inside of me.”
“Find another rich guy and move on. And if he turns out to be a jerk, divorce him and take his money.”
Nino really had it all figured out, she thought. “Why in the world do I need to find anyone? I’m happier alone. The last thing I want is to feel like this again. You focus on you. Why aren’t you married?”
“I’m trying; believe me.” He reached for the bottle of Chianti and refilled his glass.
“You’d be a good dad,” she told him.
“You’ll be a good mom.”
“I don’t know,” Annalisa said, feeling her mind slip back to the possibility of adoption. It wasn’t too late to give her child a better footing in life. Talk about failure, though. How could she ever paint again if she knew she’d sent a child out there to fight the world alone?
“You’re going to keep it, right?” Nino asked, sensing her thoughts.
“I still don’t know.” Annalisa pulled off the blanket and stood. She leaned against the railing and tickled the chimes with her hands. Looking down, she saw that a man had exited the phone booth and was attempting to hail a cab. The Leaning Tower of Treeza had shed all its leaves and was dressed in a dusting of snow. She could hear the sad sound of a sax coming from a club a block down, and for some reason the brassy sound made her feel so old. Just last year, she was in love and free and not pregnant, and the world was full of opportunity. She was alone and pregnant and lost.
Part III
FEBRUARY1972TOMAY1979
Chapter 33
CELIA
Annalisa was a complete wreck by the time her daughter was born on February 3, 1972. Not believing that she had what it took to be a great mother, so much of her wanted to give her baby up for adoption, but she’d decided against it. The decision had nothing to do with Nonna’s insistence or Annalisa’s fear of God. Her decision to keep the baby came down to the fact that, when she really sat to consider the idea of letting another person raise her baby, she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t stand the thought of going on and living a life, knowing that her child was out there.
Her contractions started around four in the morning, and she knew her baby was ready to enter the world. Because Annalisa’s due date approached, Nonna had been staying with Walt for a week, helping Annalisa every way she could. Waddling her way to the living room, she dialed Walt’s number. In moments, she was lying down in the back seat of his Plymouth as he raced the three of them to the Maine Medical Center. During her attempts to quell the pain by following the breathing technique she’d learned, she realized how terribly afraid she was to take on such tremendous responsibility.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said as he handed Annalisa her child in the delivery room. She’d endured seven hours of labor and was covered in sweat, deathly tired, but she couldn’t help but laugh at the gender.During all those times she’d referred to “him,” God must have been snickering at her.
