- 20 -
Barry Cromwell’s jacket alone wasn’t enough to keep him warm. Without gloves, his hitchhiking thumb was numb. He pulled his hands deeper into his jacket sleeves and shoved his left hand deep into his fleece-lined pocket while keeping his right visible to oncoming motorists.
Most passed him by. Some hit melted snow puddles and soaked the pant leg facing the street. Barry’s pace slowed as he navigated the knee-high snow piles along the side of the road. When he couldn’t see cars from a couple miles down the road, he faced forward and stuck both hands in his pockets.
He’d never walked this stretch of road. His mother had always driven him back. He felt the sense of relief coming off her as they got closer to Tree Crest, his live-in facility. Barry didn’t share that he felt the same,
