Riches To Rags

Chapter 3: Accommadations

"Life is a journey that must be traveled, no matter how bad the roads and accommadations."

        ~ Oliver Goldsmith

South Central was her home and part of her was glad to be home. The city was known for its violent crime, gangs, drugs and riots. So it wasn't the safest place to live in the world and when she got the opportunity to move in with the Harris', Carla took it a ran with it.

At the time it was the best decision she could make for herself and accomodations were easy. Until she begun to think with her heart instead of her brain. It was situations like this that always determined a bad outcome, but in this case, something beautiful came out of it.

As she opened the oven door, she grabbed pot holders to take her blueberry muffins out. They were Rae's favorite and hoped that it would put a smile on her face like it did whenever she made them for her back at the Manor. She understood that this would be a difficult process for Rae to go through, but had faith in her that she would come back on top and get use to it.

As she placed them on top of the stove, her house phone rung. Carla took off her burgandy pot holders and placed them on the counter. Dusting her hands on her peach apron, she walked out her small kitchen and into her family room. Her house wasn't as big as the Harris's.

Carla didn't have ten thousand dollar paintings and statues, Persian rugs and custom made furniture. What she had was peace of mind, or so she thought. Sitting down on her dark chocolate sofa, she picked up the receiver that was on the glass end table.

"Good morning," she spoke politely.

"How are you?" Frank whispered into the receiver as he sat on the edge of the bed. Glancing at the terrace, he saw his wife getting some fresh air.

Hearing his voice made her smile. "Can't complain," she responded. "How are you holding up."

"You know me," he laughed. "I can take just about anything, but you're not as strong as you always claim to be. So i'll ask again. How are you Carla?"

She leaned back against the sofa and craddled the phone with her shoulder. He thought he knew her so well.

"Despite what you think Frank I'm doing fine," she answered. "I'm back at home and living more comfortably then ever."

"So I didn't take care of you back at the Manor?" He questioned her. A pint of hope was in his mind.

Carla sighed. "That's not what I meant Frank," she told him.

Frank opened his mouth to reply back but the words couldn't form. He peeked out to the terrace and watched his wife pace back and forth. "I tried Carla," he said. The only words he could speak.

Leaning back and glanced up at the ceiling she closed her eyes. She believed him, but she also believe he didn't try hard enough. "Yeah, I know," she whispered.

"How's my princess?" He asked, deciding to change the subject. He wanted to know how his baby girl was doing, but he had a slight inclination that she was blowing a fit.

"I was just about to go over there and see," she told him. "Hopping on a plane and coming here to see where she was going to live wasn't easy."

"Nobody wants to go from the Beverly Hills to crack houses and hoes," Frank snorted. "Riches to rags, huh?"

His laughter was lightly heard through the receiver, but Carla wasn't laughing. What he claimed wasn't funny. She knew the day she meet him that Frank had a cocky mentality and looked down on some, but never her and where she came from. To her, hearing this, it made her think deeply if he always thought this way.