"Worried about the family's reputation," Rachel muttered.

 

Her father didn't react — maybe because he'd heard that comment before, or maybe

because it was true.

 

"We could call Dr. Arkwright," he suggested. "He helped you get through the

death of your hamster."

 

"I was six then," she said. "And no, Dad, I don't need a therapist. I just . .

." She shook her head helplessly.

 

Her father stopped in front of the windows. He gazed at the New York skyline as

if he owned it — which wasn't true. He only owned part of it.

 

"It will be good for you to get away," he decided. "You've had some unhealthy

influences."

 

"I'm not going to Clarion Ladies Academy," Rachel said. "And my friends are none

of your business."

 

Mr. Dare smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was more like, Someday you'll

realize how silly you sound.

 

"Try to get some sleep," he urged. "We'll be at the beach by tomorrow night. It