“Come to my place.” His cheeks are chapped from the cold.

I have thought long and hard about what he would get from this arrangement, and there’s only one thing I can figure out. “No, thank you,” I say, sweetly as I can.

“Park in front of my house at least,” he says. “So I know you’re safe.”

I point at him, at how he found me. “How do I know you’re safe?”

“I’m not stalking you. I was worried.”

“You don’t even know me!”

Adam bends, hands on knees, so he can look at me better. He’s different from Matty, like he’s grown into his body. His stubble isn’t spotted and sparse. “Please. I’ll sleep better.” He shifts a little and the streetlight shines over his shoulder into my eyes, turning him into just the shape of a person.

“I live right up the hill,” he says. “It’s a nice street. Quiet.”

I look through the windshield at the pack of boys collecting outside the party house. One of them is shoving another one; the rest are laughing but it looks like the wind could change direction way too fast.

“Fine,” I say, but when Adam reaches for the door handle, I flinch. I don’t mean to. It just happens.

“Okay.” Adam backs away. “It’s on Hudson Street. Third white house on the left. You know Hudson?”

I shake my head.

“So if you make a U-turn here and then—” He looks away. A car drives by and the swish of tires on the wet road drowns out the rest of his words. I don’t want to hear them anyway. My brain can’t hold the information. I’m just too tired. I am so tired. I hope the streetlights are dim enough that he can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes.

Adam stops giving me directions. “Okay,” he whispers, like he’s saying it to himself. He leans toward the window, careful not to rest his hands on my car. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll walk home and you drive slow behind me. There aren’t many people on the roads right now, and it isn’t far, so it’ll be fine. Okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He gives me a smile and waves his arm like Let’s go.

I start the car, do a U-turn, keep pace with him as he walks on the sidewalk.

He has a slight hitch in his giddyup, as Margo would say. Heavier on his left foot than his right. His shoulders slope forward; the back of his neck is bare. No scarf. He walks quick, swinging his bag of takeout, looking over to check on me again and again.