“I know,” Annemarie said, and she smiled, and then her smile crinkled up and collapsed, like someone had grabbed and crushed it so it could be thrown away like foil or wrapping paper. She kept wondering when it would stop, when she would get control of herself anytime she talked about Annie, or thought about her, or heard a song on the radio they’d listened to together when they were young. Good song, bad song, didn’t matter. She’d almost started to cry in front of the Doritos rack at the supermarket.
