Getting by (A Knight's Tale) Read Online Free PDF Page A

her car.
    “Remember when we decorated my grandma’s room?” I asked Gabby, while she drove away, exiting the airport. The area looked the same as every other international airport in the world. Traffic, long entrances to different parking lots, cabs, shuttles and thousands of big signs telling you where to turn to get to your destination.
    “She spit fire that day. How are your dad’s parents?”
    “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, detached from the man who once was my favorite grandfather and the woman who became a stranger to me.
    My grandparents and I didn’t speak after my parents’ funeral, though our big fallout began with the decorating incident. We used all her supplies to make the place crafty. Wasn’t it the craft room? Glitter, stickers, scrapbook paper and ribbons hung around the walls after we finished. “You’re raising a delinquent,” she had screamed at Mom. Her house in San Francisco inspired thousands of Mausoleums around the globe. “Emma and her friend vandalized my entire home,” she had said.
    “Fun times,” Gaby cried, and clapped excitedly. My eyes widened…she had released the wheel. I’d die of sadness or a car accident at the pace things were happening. “But dissecting their expensive fish made my day.”
    I rested my forehead on the window. Judah Anderson, or Grandpa as I called him, died a thousand times the moment he found the beloved fish on top of the kitchen counter. In our defense, the fish was belly up when Gaby found him. She needed to find the cause and time of death. Too many criminal shows gave her the idea. She suspected the clown fish played a heavy role in his death. “He looks orange, the look of guilt,” her scientific voice had convinced me.
    One swoop with the fish net and I got the thing out of the tank and transported it to the kitchen, where Gaby had set up the operating room. I held the flashlight while she opened the body with a knife and— “What are you two doing with my fish?” Grandpa had cried.
    “Judah, those girls vandalized my room,” Grandma had seconded him.
    Busted! We both mouthed and laughed silently. They called our moms, who canceled their shopping-girl day.
    Mom had defended me from Dad’s rage. “One parent lecturing her is more than enough, Nick,” she had said. He wanted me to be like Chloe, who during those years was serious and responsible.
    Grandpa moved me from his favorite people column to the persona non-grata one. Sad, of my two grandpas, Judah was my favorite. Mom swore he adored me because I looked a lot like Grandma Lily. Brown hair with natural streaks of auburn highlights, hazel eyes that played tricks by going from green to brown as they pleased, slender and a little on the tall side—five foot seven and three quarters. Tall, compared to Mom and Chloe who were five two, less three quarters.
    “I miss Mom.” The words came out without my permission. It was the first time I told a living person about it. Loathing the pity looks and sympathy for the orphan, I had always bottled everything inside.
    “We all do, Em, I’m sure she’s looking out for you.” She squeezed my hand and continued the long—forty-five minute—drive. “Thank you for coming and dropping your master for me.”
    “That’s what friends are for,” I said, and continued sightseeing in silence. My master and only constant in life—work—saved me from the world and loneliness. Once my parents died, I threw myself toward school, avoiding any and all emotions. Art included. “You better stay married, because I won’t go to another wedding.” I offered a weak smile and looked out the window.
    Welcome to Menlo Park, I read, and a shocking wave to my body followed by my erratic breathing startled me. It was time to redirect my thoughts to something different. My next presentation, a software company, we heard they were in the market for a new advertising agency. Yet, memories from the life Mom and Dad faked together tried to sneak