Annamarie works that summer as the cashier at the self-checkout lane at the Winn-Dixie, where she stands at a counter and glances at receipts and politely points out forgotten twelve-packs of Coke on the bottom racks of shopping carts. She swipes her own Lunchables for her break next to the ice machine.

There’s a little TV at the stand and it flickers between cameras pointed out from under each laser scanner, so you can see what they’re trying to weigh as unlabeled produce. It shows faces, too, distorted and bulbous. Every one she sees could be her mother.