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with the wrong bait, huh?”
    Bob laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with your bait, Rowe. The right fish just hasn’t swum close enough to get snagged yet.” He nodded across the table at Greg. “Congratulations to you and Jill. I used to love hearing her play at church, and my wife listens to her CD at home all the time. She was quite a piano player before that subway crash. Closest thing the Cove has to a celebrity.”
    “And she’s going to marry another celebrity.” Rowena rubbed a hand across Greg’s shoulder before picking up the dirty dishes. “Our next councilman is sitting right here.”
    Greg’s lips twitched. “I don’t know if councilman for Seaside Cove counts as being a celebrity.”
    “Besides, the election is still a ways off.” Bob pulled out enough money to cover his breakfast and tossed it on the table.
    Greg did the same, and rose when Bob did. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me this morning.”
    The two shook hands. “Glad I did. All I can say is, I won’t make up my mind until I’ve heard you out.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll see you Monday night, then.”
    Bob raised a hand in farewell and headed out the door. Greg stared after him, his spirits flagging. He’d known when he started this campaign that he had an uphill battle ahead of him. Samuels, the incumbent, was a well-known local man, while Greg was atransplant to the Cove and not nearly as visible. He knew he would have to overcome the townspeople’s natural distrust of outsiders, and especially of a newcomer to politics. But it had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t have the support of those who knew him personally, who worshipped with him and Jill every Sunday morning.
    “Don’t you worry about Bob. He’ll come around.” Rowena set down the carafe to balance the coffee cups on top of the plates. “Besides, you’d better wipe that long, sad look off your face or people will think you’re not happy about getting married. It’s a happy day, right?”
    The words lifted his spirits like a birthday balloon soaring into the sky. Rowena was right. The most beautiful woman in the world had said yes. They were getting married.
    “You’re right.” He turned a grin on Rowena. “This is a happy day.”

    “This is a terrible day!”
    Jill sprawled in the padded vinyl chair in her counselor’s office, threw her head against the high back, and dropped her hands over the sides. As usual, Doreen Davenport’s expression remained passive, her pink lipsticked mouth arranged into a pleasant, not-quite smile. She took her time crossing from the closed door to the neat desk, selecting a ballpoint pen from the crowded holder on the corner, and lowering herself into the chair beside Jill’s.
    “Now.” She clicked the pen and leveled a calm gaze on Jill’s face. “Why is this a terrible day?”
    “Because I’m not fixed yet and I’m getting married.” The lastword came out in an unintended wail.
    “First of all, the term
not fixed
presupposes that you’re
broken,
and you’re not. And second —” Nonchalance gave way to a wide grin. “You’re getting married? That’s wonderful news, Jill. Congratulations.”
    Jill lifted her head off the high chair back. “No, it’s not. Last night it was wonderful news. Today it’s a fiasco in the making. And you can say I’m not broken all you want, but I’m obviously not recovered yet. I’m not normal.”
    Doreen’s smile twitched downward the merest fraction. “Why do you think you’re not normal?”
    The ludicrousness of the question silenced Jill for a moment. How could she even begin to answer? In fact, why did she have to, when the answer was so obvious? But this was the way sessions with Doreen went. She forced Jill to describe every emotion, every memory, in excruciating detail. Then she rarely voiced an opinion, merely nodded and murmured, “Hmmm,” or prodded with frustratingly ambiguous questions like, “And how did that make you feel?”
    But Jill