As she began to push open the door, Lenny yelled behind her, “Anna, you want I should give you a lift home? It’s on my way.”
Anna stood there, shoulder braced against the door, mulling it over. She needed to walk, to clear her head, but still, if there was something out there that caused that old bleach-blonde barfly Inez to croak from fear—“Okay, as long as it’s not out of your way.” Lenny was safe—a big teddy bear of a guy with penny loafers and shirts that never stayed tucked in his pants. Anna doubted that he and Millie ever got it on much; Lenny seemed almost neuter, like a deballed bull. And he even blushed when Mr. Winston got raunchy. In Ewerton, that alone was proof that a guy was safe.
* * * *
“Here’s my house,” Anna said, as Lenny’s ten-year-old Dodge passed her next door ne
