Ivy's Twisted Vine Redux Latrivia Nelson (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📖

“Hey you,” Emerald said coming to sit at her bedside still in his black suit pants and white button down shirt.

“Hey,” Trina said scooting over. “Thanks for coming to the funeral today.”

“No problem. Kakeline and I were way in the back, but we left early to beat the traffic.”

“It’s okay. I understand. What are you up to tonight?”

“Nothing much. I just checked on Ivy. She’s gone to bed. Grey’s out doing whatever that boy does.” He nodded in disapproval. “I just wanted to make sure that you were handling this okay.”

“As well as to be expected.” She smiled.

“You want to be cheered up?” His thick, black, naturally arched eyebrow lifted.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I brought Rocky Road Ice Cream and Shaft. Not the old movie, but Samuel L. Jackson.”

“Not the king of muthafuckas.” Trina smiled.

“The very same.” Emerald pulled the DVD from his coat pocket.

“Pop it in.” Trina said grabbing her remote to turn on her television. “Hey, where is your wife?

“At home.” Emerald sighed. “She said she wanted to be left alone.”

“Well, I surely don’t.” Trina looked into his eyes. Just what was going on here?

“I’ll go and fix the ice cream,” Emerald said quietly.

Chapter Twenty-One:

Welcome to Miami

Chapter 21

WELCOME TO MIAMI

“We are now boarding First Class seats A-1 through D-3” the flight attendant smiled as she watched the anxious passengers form a quiet single line. After a two-hour wait, Nicola boarded the plane with a pregnancy book, a pair of shades and desire to sleep for two hours and twenty-one minutes uninterrupted. Taking a window seat, he peered out across the Memphis airstrip and felt a small stir of relief. He was glad to be leaving for a while. It had been too long since he had pulled away from work, and his trip home was well overdue.

Sliding his shades over his eyes after sipping on a cold strong Sprite, Nicola adjusted his pillows and tried to rest. His thoughts began to race immediately. It happened wherever he was. He questioned every step of the day that Brooks was killed. He went over every strategic and spontaneous move. He blamed himself continuously. I should have reacted quicker. I should have pushed him out of the way. I should have taken the bullet.

“Please buckle your safety belt, sir,” a flight attendant said hovering over him. He made eye contact with her. His thoughts must have been showing on his face. She looked away, stunned by his stone glare. He looked away, too. Embarrassed by his sheer rage. Buckling his seat belt, he cracked his knuckles and anxiously awaited the opportunity to order a drink.

Nearly three hours later after a long nap and virtually turbulence-free flying, Nicola was on a taxi headed to his parents’ house. He knew that he had made it back home when turned off of MacArthur Cswy to the Bridge Road. As he entered into the private community down Star Island Drive, Nicola looked around at the familiar upscale mansions with well-manicured lawns, luxurious cars and beautiful landscapes and recalled a simple time in his life as child.

Only two homes down from the entrance of the community sat a familiar three-story villa lined with incredibly well-kept shrubbery, an immaculate lawn, tall healthy palm trees, marble lions at the entrance of the rod-iron gated driveway and his mother’s silver jaguar parked respectably at the front door. Pulling his bags out of the car, he passed the driver a hundred dollar bill and took a deep breath.

Home. It was the same as the day he had left. Statuesque and marvelous, its dominant beauty and skillful architecture was a testament to his father’s many years of prosperous hard work and sacrifice.

Walking through the grass, he saw his mother standing in front of black rod-iron doors in a silk yellow Chanel suit and yellow alligator pumps. Her long fiery red hair was pulled away from her face in a bun and her grandmother’s pearls sat on her neck like the crown jewels of England.

Excited beyond her own expectations, she ran down the steps, grabbed him Nicola her arms and kissed him on his cheek. Dropping his bags on the ground, he picked her up and whirled her around. Her blue eyes stared through his own as if she was searching through his soul and her long nails rushed through his hair.

“Thank God you are finally home, Nico.” Her smile was luminous and yet fragile.

“Ma, I’ve missed you so much,” he said beholding her beauty once again, even noticing small lines in her face that he swore were not there before and the awesome streaks of bold silver in her hair. Was it possible for his elegant mother to be aging?

“Oh, I’ve missed you, too. Come on. Let’s get you into the house and out of this heat.” Grabbing one of his bags, she turned on her heals and headed for the house.

“Ma, I’ve got that.” Nicola tried to take the bag away.

“Nonsense.” She pulled away. “I’m not made of glass.” Climbing the stairs, she was met at the door by Delmin, the family butler.

“How are you doing Mr. Del?” Nicola said greeting his old friend with a big hug and smile.

“Good, Nic and yourself?” Delmin said taking his bags.

“Oh, I will be better now.”

“Well, I will leave you to get reacquainted. Do you need anything at all, sir?”

“No, I’m great.” Looking around the large marble entryway, Nicola realized that absolutely nothing had changed since he had gone away. “So where is everyone?”

“Honey, we are old now. There is no everyone…just your father and I. And he is away on business. He won’t arrive from Paris until later this evening.”

“He’s still running like a race horse, huh?” Every since Nicola was a boy the most vivid memories he had of his father where of him working tirelessly around the clock.

“I don’t know. As he gets older, he talks more and more of Italy. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he wants