Leila, the head of Craine’s household staff, was waiting for Maggie at the steps.

“Mr. Craine is on the terrace, Ms. Craine; he’s expecting you.” Maggie had long ago given up trying to read her father’s mood from Leila’s expression; that Chip had summoned her to Stella at all was never a good sign.

Her father kept the house glacially cold; when she was a kid, the tile in the ridiculously formal entry hall always felt like ice under her bare feet. Hugging herself against the chill, Maggie crossed the living room. The view was as gorgeous as ever, the green sweep of perfect lawn, down to the Gulf of Mexico, the water now blurred by silver haze.

She pushed through the big glass doors and out onto the terrace, down the steps to the pool. Her father sat at the table in his robe, eating scrambled eggs and toast and reading the New York Times. He was wearing a pair of handmade Italian sunglasses that cost over three thousand dollars.

He accepted her dutiful kiss and gestured to the other chair.

“Coffee? Juice? I can have Rosalba make up some eggs if you’d like…”

Maggie shook her head. “I had coffee at home.” She sat.

“I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve been going over the bills from Palm Haven.” He tapped a leather folio on the table. “Lucy’s stay is going to cost over thirty-two thousand dollars.”

“My God!” The number was astonishing. “But they were great with her, I think she’s doing really well.”

He nodded. “And of course, that’s the most important thing—that Lucy keeps making progress and getting better. It’s what we all want.”

Where was he going with this?

He slid the folio aside and leaned back. “So, have you seen any more of the doctor?”

She didn’t like this. “No.”

“You spent the other night with him.”

She flushed. She didn’t answer.

“Of course, your affairs are none of my business.” He shrugged. “But I have to say, I don’t like him.”

“You never like them.”

“What?”

“You never like anyone I date.”

He chuckled. “That’s just silly—I liked Charlie Endicott.”

“Charlie Endicott was a prick—you only liked him because his dad hated that he was dating me.”

“Ah! I am a bad man indeed, comforted by the discomfort of my enemies!” Craine said. “But, anyway: I disapprove of the doctor—I mean, the man cuts up dead bodies, for crying out loud!”

Maggie was silent a second.

She said quietly, “I like him. He’s kind to me, patient with me.”

“Well, I think we’ve all been very patient with you.” Craine took a sip of grapefruit juice. “But I’ve seen you do this a thousand times. You always think you’ve fallen in love, and make a fool of yourself over some man, then a few days later, a week later, you realize they were wrong for you all along.

“You make bad decisions, we both know it. Most adults are independent, work for a living—but not you. I buy you a house, I give you an allowance, I even fund your damn shelter, so you can pretend you’ve actually done something with your life! And in the end, I always have to jump in and clean up after you. It’s like dealing with a six-year-old.”

She was teary now. “Daddy, please. That’s so unfair.”

“I watch you throw yourself at this doctor, and I can see it’s just one more Maggie Craine disaster in the making. I’ve had just about enough. It’s time you assumed more responsibility.”

He opened the folio and tapped his finger firmly on the Palm Haven bill. “Lucy gives me enough to worry about without you disappearing with strange men all the time—you should be home looking after her! How on earth did you let her starve herself like that? Where were you, exactly, when she was making herself throw up?”

He watched Maggie sob, his eyes unblinking and lizard-like.

“Thirty-two thousand dollars! You act like the money grows on trees!” He pulled another invoice from the folio and pushed it across the table. “And the family therapy? You think that’s free? Three hundred dollars an hour. How would you like to pay for it?”

He closed the folio firmly. “Really, Maggie, if you’re independent enough to run off and sleep with every man who comes along, you should also be responsible enough to pay for the medical care Lucy needs because of your neglect.”

Maggie leaped to her feet, grabbed his juice glass, and threw it at him. It hit the robe silently, spattering juice onto his neck and chest and lap; Craine caught the glass before it fell to the floor.

He called after her, “Oh, well done, Maggie! I completely take back what I said about you being immature!”

She kept going and didn’t turn when he called to her, “It’s up to you—you just let me know how you want to cover it…”