Recreated Page 2

  If my mother noticed my too-bright eyes, she probably chalked it up to my being emotional about leaving high school. The truth was, I didn’t care about high school. I didn’t care about college or boys. I didn’t care about much of anything anymore.

  The time soon came for me to depart for the summer, and I was surprised that my parents wanted to drop me off at the airport. Maybe they noticed more than I thought they did, or perhaps they were just feeling nostalgic about me growing up and leaving the nest. Either way, the drive felt a bit awkward.

  I stared at my reflection in the window.

  My eyes were large and dull; my hair was wound in a perfect, tight bun at the nape of my neck; and my lips were stretched in a thin, unforgiving line, as rigid as a ruler. In fact, that was what I looked like: a schoolmarm. A smirk lifted the corner of my mouth as I imagined how much Amon would hate my hair like this. He preferred it wild and unbound.

  After a few quiet goodbyes and some stiff hugs, my parents relinquished me to the chaos of the airport. Inside, a range of emotions hit me all at once. I remembered being there with Amon a few short months earlier, and how with the wave of his hand and a charming smile, he could wrap anyone around his finger.

  I boarded the plane and strapped in, remembering how even the most mundane actions like buckling a seat belt were completely new and foreign for Amon. Though I actually did try not to think of him, it seemed that was all I could do, and when I shut my eyes, rocked to sleep by the plane, I found myself in Amon’s world once again.

  He wasn’t fighting a monster, which was a relief, but he had a wicked wound on his thigh that was seeping blood onto his leggings. Sucking in a breath, he tore away the fabric around it and wrapped it in the bandages he’d created from the sand. Some kind of armor lay discarded next to him, and Amon shrugged out of a tunic before dipping it in a small, natural basin of water and scrubbing his arms and neck. I hoped the precious drops trickling down the side of a boulder were enough to both quench his thirst and clean his wound. The area was very desolate and dry.

  Though the sight of his bare chest was distracting, I was more absorbed by the expression on his face. He was exhausted and hurting, and not just physically. I wondered if he missed me as much as I did him.

  “Amon?” I whispered involuntarily.

  In my dream he froze and looked around, eyes shining with an iridescent green light in the darkness. Though he’d never been able to hear me before, I still tried. One day he might. After a moment, the tenseness in Amon’s shoulders relaxed, and he settled down with his back against a rock and closed his eyes. His bare chest rose and fell in a rhythm that slowed as the minutes passed and then something changed.

  As his body continued to sleep, a gentle pressure wrapped around me.

  “Lily?” I heard his familiar voice and squelched a sob.

  “Amon? Can you hear me?” I asked the ethereal darkness.

  “Yes. I can hear you, Nehabet.”

  “Is this real?”

  He didn’t answer right away but then eventually said, “I wish it were not.”

  “What’s happening to you?” I asked desperately. “Why are you suffering? I thought you were in the afterlife. I thought you were at peace. Why are you tormented night after night?”

  “I am no longer under the protection of the gods. I have relinquished my station.”

  “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “It means that I would rather suffer than continue to do their bidding.”

  “But if you don’t save the world, who will?”

  “They will find another to replace me.”

  “I still don’t understand. Are they punishing you?”

  I felt his sigh as much as I heard it. “They did not choose this for me. I am the one who decided to walk this path.”

  “It’s a pretty difficult path, Amon. Can’t your brothers help you?”

  “We are separated. There is nothing they can do for me now.”

  “I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I know. I am sorry for causing you pain. I didn’t think our connection would be this strong.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You are in pain, too, Young Lily.”

  Bitterly, I said in a shaky voice, “Not like you.”

  “No. Not like me. But you are hurting nonetheless. It is my fault. My loneliness has caused this.”

  “Your desire for human connection didn’t cause this. The gods did. They don’t understand. Everyone needs to be loved. It’s completely natural.”

  He laughed sardonically. “I was human, Lily, once. But I am something altogether different now. I gave my humanity up for the greater good.”

  Thunder boomed in the sky above Amon’s still form, roiling clouds shifting like a churning ocean. Lightning struck and his body jerked awake. I felt the loss of his presence, as if a warm blanket had been ripped away from me. As the ground shook, he staggered tiredly to his feet and summoned his armor made of sand to strap onto his form. Amon lifted his face to the wind as he closed his eyes and said, “I love you, Lily. But it is time for you to wake up.”

  He raced into the darkness to face whatever beast awaited him as his words echoed in my mind. “I love you, too,” I whispered, even though I knew he could no longer hear me.

  I felt a nudge on my shoulder as someone said, “Wake up, miss. We’ve landed.”

  The flight attendant gave me a strange look before moving on. I scrubbed my palms over my eyes, hoping my conversation with Amon had taken place only in my mind and I hadn’t been talking in my sleep.

  Making my way to the baggage claim, I couldn’t have missed the gray-haired woman waving a handmade sign back and forth that said LILYPAD, my nana’s pet name for me.

  “Hey, Nana.” I smiled as she dropped her sign and wrapped her arms around me. She was a robust woman, a rancher’s wife, and her arms were strong and solid. As she squeezed me tightly, I felt the tension in my shoulders melt like a pat of butter in a cast-iron skillet.

  “I missed you, Lilypad. It’s been too long.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Gripping my shoulders, she stepped away and gave me one of her scrutinizing looks. “Hmm. You’re too skinny. Well, we’ll take care of that.” Smiling, she put her arm around me and we turned to watch the rotating baggage carousel. “I can’t tell you how happy you made me when you asked to stay with me this summer.”

  “I’m just glad you said yes.”

  “Of course I would say yes. You know how badly I’ve wanted you to come for an extended visit.”

  I shrugged. “There was just never a good time.”

  Nana harrumphed. “Never a good time for your parents, you mean. To think, my own son is too busy to remember what’s most important in life.”

  “You know they love you, Nana.”

  “If love looks like too-busy-to-call-your-own-mother, then yes. I’m sure they do in their own way.”

  I spotted my bag and yanked it off the spinning carousel, with Nana helping me to get it upright.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked as we headed out to her car.

  “Famished,” I admitted with a smile. And I was. Surprisingly, my appetite had returned. I wasn’t sure if it was a result of being with my nana or having recently spoken with Amon or if it was just suddenly feeling more like myself, but I was hungry enough to eat an entire cow, which wasn’t too far off from the realm of possibility on my nana’s farm.

  After we stopped at a diner, we were back on the road and found that we both had a hankering to listen to Elvis. Since her old car didn’t have satellite radio and most of the roads we were driving on were too far from any normal stations, we sang. Fortunately, Elvis recorded so many songs that we never had to repeat any. I looked up the lyrics on my phone and we sang our hearts out the entire drive to the farm.

  There was something freeing about being on the road. I felt more like myself than I had in months, and I knew that was because I was embracing the same things Amon loved
—laughing, feasting, and being with people who cared about you.

  By the time Nana pulled up to the farm, it was getting late. She introduced me to her new dog, Winston, named after Winston Churchill, who she swore looked just like him. I didn’t see the resemblance. Winston got up from his sleeping spot on the porch, tail wagging, and sniffed my hand. Nana went to check on the other animals while I wrestled my bag into the house. I knew she’d be tired when she got back. Nana was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of gal.

  Still, instead of going directly to her room, she made me a cup of chamomile tea, sweetening it the way I liked with cream and honey and adding a little shortbread cookie on the side. Then she headed to the living room, as if sensing I needed to talk. I set my bags in the guest room, grabbed an old quilt, and cozied into a worn recliner while she took to her favorite rocking chair.

  As she sipped her tea and rocked, her twinkling eyes studied me in the dim room. “What’s bothering you, Lilypad?” she asked.

  A stream of words crossed my tongue but melted away like chocolate over a flame. “I…It’s hard to talk about,” I said finally.

  “Is it your parents? College?”

  “No.”

  “Ah…it’s a young man, then.” I grimaced and then nodded once. “Tell me about him,” she encouraged.

  Could I? If anyone would understand or believe me, it would be her. Anubis hadn’t said I couldn’t tell anyone. He probably just assumed that no one would accept what I said anyway and it wasn’t like sharing my story could change anything.

  “Did he have a strong chin?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “A…a what?” I replied.

  “A strong chin. You can always tell a good man by the cut of his chin.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Nana, what are you talking about?”

  “No, I mean it. A weak-chinned man is a man you walk away from.” She slashed her hand in front of her as if karate chopping the man down.

  “Are you sure you aren’t talking about horses or cows?” I teased.

  Nana leaned forward. “Your grandpa, rest his soul, had a rugged chin. He was a strong man. A good one. Never seen the like of him since.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and regarded her with a smile. “Is that how you picked him? Based on his chin?”

  “Well, there was that and the steamed windows.”

  “Steamed windows?”

  “Every time we got to kissing, we steamed up the windows.”

  I choked on my tea and set down the cup. “I did not need to know that about Grandpa.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  A little embarrassed, I shrugged slightly and admitted, “There might have been a few steamy windows and he does have a rather rugged chin now that I think about it.”

  “Aha!” Nana’s eyes gleamed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  When I didn’t volunteer any further information, she prodded again gently. “Did he break your heart, Lilypad?”

  I rubbed my hands together and despite a valiant effort to control myself, tears spilled onto my cheeks. “Well, my heart is broken but it wasn’t his fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He…he died, Nana.”

  “Oh. Oh my dear. I’m so sorry.” Nana rocked herself forward and moved to the couch, holding out her arms for me. Without even thinking, I got up and collapsed against her, letting the tears flow down my face in a torrent as she rubbed my back and murmured, “It’s okay to cry, honey,” and “You just let it all out now.” After a moment, she added, “Your parents don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “They wouldn’t have approved.”

  She nodded and squeezed me tighter. Despite knowing that Amon was alive in some way, acknowledging that he was beyond my reach for the rest of my mortal life sat heavily in my heart. The grief was hot and packed into my chest like a too-full suitcase. Sitting with Nana, allowing my emotions to flow in such a free, open way, helped. The sadness ebbed out of me slowly, deflating until I felt spent.

  We sat quietly for several minutes, her hand softly patting my shoulder until I finally lifted my tearstained face. “How did you get over it, Nana? With Grandpa, I mean.”

  She let out a heavy sigh as her hands moved to my hair and stroked it lightly. “You don’t. Not really. I know that’s not the thing most of your friends would tell you but it’s the truth in my experience. Other people don’t really want to hear about it either, so prepare for that. Oh, they leave you alone for a while. Give you a certain amount of time, but then they expect you to pull yourself together and move on.”

  “So, you’re not over him?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be. Your granddad was an integral part of my life. Don’t misunderstand me. The grief changes over time. You keep busy. Sometimes your mind even forgets the pain for a little while. But when someone you love dies, there will always be a hurt inside you, like a splinter, and when you give yourself over to thinking on it, the ache comes back.”

  My lip trembled as I considered that the splinter in my heart was more like a jagged tree trunk.

  “Aw, honey. I hope I haven’t made it worse.”

  “I’m not sure it could be.”

  “I know it seems like there’s nothing left. That life won’t go on without him, but it does. As much as you allow it to, anyway. I like to think that he’s not gone forever, that he’s just in a place I can’t be yet. I’ve thought about death a lot since the day he departed this world, and I’ve decided that it’s like a long business trip. It’s a separation that neither of us wants but it’s a normal part of life. And someday, I’m not sure when, that business trip will be over and we’ll be together again.”

  “You really think you’ll see Grandpa again?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it.”

  “I never took you for such a romantic, Nana.”

  “Never underestimate the power of the heart, Lilypad.”

  I blew out a long breath. “So what do I do? Until we can be together again?”

  “Keep busy. Work. Laugh. Learn. Love your family. Enjoy your life the best way you can.”

  “I think he’d agree with you, Nana.”

  She smiled. “You’ll have to tell me more about him tomorrow. He must have been very special to have made such an impact on you.”

  “He was.” Sniffling, I said, “I think I’d like to sleep now.”

  “Of course. Let me just get you another quilt.”

  As she rummaged in the closet and I moved to the guest room, I turned and said, “Sometimes I have nightmares. I don’t want you to worry if you hear anything.”

  She pressed the thick quilt she’d made into my arms. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m a deep sleeper. Besides, Bossy will be bawling to be milked before the sun comes up, so neither of us will be getting much sleep tonight.”

  “Okay.” She turned to head up the stairs to her room. “Nana?” I added.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “I’m glad I’m here.”

  “So am I, Lilypad. So am I.”

  The bang of pots and pans in the kitchen woke me up way earlier than my body would have woken naturally. I wrapped a worn robe Nana kept for me in the closet around my body and headed into the kitchen. Nana was already dressed and wore a sturdy pair of work boots. “Would you rather make breakfast or milk Bossy?” she asked without turning around.

  “I’ll take Bossy,” I answered with a yawn.

  “All right. The pail is hanging on a hook by the door. Give her a good amount of hay. It distracts her while she’s being milked.”

  “Sounds good.” I quickly pulled on the work clothes she kept for me at her house. If I’d ever tried to take them home, my parents would have burned them immediately. Also my nana insisted that my regular clothes were entirely too “froufrou” to work on a farm, so she’d bought several pairs of sturdy pants and thick, long-sleeved shirts that were stored in the guest bedroom drawer. They shoul
d have been a little tight on me by now, since the last time I visited was my sophomore year in high school. The pants were too short, but I’d lost weight in the last few months, so the clothes still fit passably well.

  Stifling another yawn, I made my way out to the barn and groped in the darkness for the hanging chain to switch on the light. “Hey, Bossy,” I responded when the cow mooed in my direction. “Hold your horses.”

  After filling her trough with fresh-cut hay, tying her to the stall, and positioning the pail and stool, I washed my hands and then sank down next to the cow. Pressing my cheek against her soft side, I steadied the bucket, hoping I remembered the right technique. After an irritated bawl and a few mistaken attempts, I figured it out and got into a comfortable rhythm.

  Half an hour later, my fingers felt a bit stiff but I had two and a half gallons of milk and a happy cow. I patted her back, fed the horses, gathered the eggs, and headed toward the house with my prizes. After I set the pail and basket of eggs on the counter, Nana grunted her thanks and pointed her spatula to the table. “Hope you’re hungry,” she said. “I did the fancy one you like.”

  “Crème brûlée French toast?” I asked, my mouth turning up in a hopeful grin.

  “Of course. You’ve also got cheesy eggs and bacon, so eat up.”

  There was something to be said about a hearty breakfast after manual labor. I managed to wolf down three pieces of French toast, a giant portion of eggs, a full glass of frothy, fresh milk, and four slices of bacon before I groaned and pushed away from the table.

  We washed the dishes together, and when I asked what was on the agenda, Nana handed me one of her famous lists. I was a list maker, too, and while perusing hers, I wondered if I’d picked up the habit from her or if there was something in our genes that made us feel a sense of satisfaction when we checked off the little boxes for the day.

  Nana’s list included weeding the garden; harvesting the tomatoes and zucchini; bathing the dog; exercising the horses; making a cake for her brother Melvin’s birthday; and visiting Grandpa’s grave.

  When the farm chores were complete, we made Melvin’s cake. He preferred strawberry and Nana not only made his cake from scratch but she also filled it with her own homemade strawberry jam. Somehow she thought it would be a good idea to kill two birds with one stone and ride the horses over to deliver the cake.