It probably wasn't her. It was some new kid at the school -- they were all new to Francine; she didn't want to think about how many had been through here since she'd left. Or someone back for the reunion who just looked like her -- at this distance it could be... what had her name been? Gabrielle?

That slump of the shoulders, though, like they'd slumped so long ago when Francine had tucked her legs into the limo, wedding gown wrapped around them, her dad holding that useless umbrella over her head while she pretended she wasn't looking back...

I don't care. Marry him. Have kids. Buy a Suburban. I don't care. Even soccer moms need a friend to have coffee and bagels with once in a while. I'll be your coffee friend...