"What a dump!" Frasier remarks at Carla's white ranch house strewn with toys all over the lawn. The lawn didn't look like a prize either; the grass looked like it hadn't been cut in a month. The white paint needed a new coat and the evergreen shudders didn't help much.

"Fras," Sam says unbuckling his seatbelt. "Try not to be so judgemental."

"Right, right," he agrees, trying to regain his composure.

They hop out of the car and into the humid air. It was the middle of summer and they had been having some scorching hot days. They both were starting to sweat by the time they got up her long driveway and to the front door. Carla was already standing at the door waiting to greet them. She was wearing a red t-shirt and old, faded blue denim shorts. Her eyes were as red as her shirt and her whole face exploited the emotional strain she was under.

"Oh, guys," she cries as the door swings open. Sam picks her up into his arms while Carla wraps her legs around him. Easy there, Carla is all he can think. She cries into his shoulder and he kisses her cheek.

"Where are the children?" Frasier asks, eyeing the topsy-turvy mess known as Carla's living room.

"I made Seraphina take them all out for ice cream," Carla explains while letting Sam go. "It was the only way I could get Lucinda out of her room. For a little girl she could eat a Harlem Globetrotter under the table."

Frasier grunts as Sam lets out a chuckle. Frasier never really could get used to her crude and most of the time ignorant sense of humor.

"Oh yeah, come sit down on the sofa, here," she offers throwing the stuffed animals and playing cards where ever they may land. "I got lemonade."

"Sounds great," Sam says taking a load off.

"None for me thanks," Frasier says squeamishly as she heads into the kitchen. She pours a tall glass for her and Sam, trying to ignore the fact that she made this lemonade just for Anne Marie. It was her favorite summer treat.

Sweet, Anne Marie, sweet girl, why?

The tears start to stream down her face again. The memories of her little girl killing her one by one. She was a classically beautiful baby girl, with that Carla thought of a classically beautiful name. Anne Marie Rose Tortelli. She was her mother's favorite daughter. She was a nice girl who got toughened up by life. She was the one who was most heartbroken by her father's abandonement and he kills her. Goddamnit!

"Carla, honey, are you okay?" Sam asks running into the kitchen as soon as he heard her cry.

"Oh, Sam," she turns to him for a hug. "I loved her so much!"

"I know, I know," he says holding her tight.

"She was my angel."

"She is your angel," Sam takes her face in his hands. "I know I'm not the most religious or spiritual, but I have to believe she is still with you and God is taking care of her."

"I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Carla."