Recreated Read Online Free

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 should 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