A new trend. Grieving chic.She didn't notice me. Though why should she? She breezed right up to the mourning mother, knelt down beside her. Hugged her, exchanged a few words. Then moved on, signed the guest book. Right under my name. Which meant nothing to her. Unless she didn't read it. Why should she? Why shouldn't she?She spoke to the minister. He wasn't that old. His face lit up when he talked to her. She had that effect on men. Even men of the cloth.I wondered if she knew anyone there. She finished with the reverend, looked around, gave no sign of recognition, and anyone would have recognized her.I wandered by the guest book, stole a casual glance.The perky-breasted teacher was Sheila Blaine.I sidled up to her, said, "Hi."She looked at me as if I were trying to pick her up. Which, in a way, I was. She smiled, said "Hi," but her body language said "Do I know you?""You'll excuse me if I'm forward, but I don't know anybody here""I don't either.""You know the mother.""I met the mother.
