"Couldn't sleep," Rachel said.

 

On the painting, a dart fell off my face. Rachel hid the rest behind her back,

but Mr. Dare noticed.

 

"So ... I take it your friend isn't coming to St. Thomas?" That's what Mr. Dare

called me. Never Percy. Just your friend. Or young man if he was talking to me,

which he rarely did.

 

Rachel knit her eyebrows. "I don't know."

 

"We leave in the morning," her dad said. "If he hasn't made up his mind yet — "

 

"He's probably not coming," Rachel said miserably. "Happy?"

 

Mr. Dare put his hands behind his back. He paced the room with a stem

expression. I imagined he did that in the boardroom of his land development

company and made his employees nervous.

 

"Are you still having bad dreams?" he asked. "Headaches?"

 

Rachel threw her darts on the floor. "I should never have told you about that."

 

"I'm your father," he said. "I'm worried about you."