Two days later...

Barry hadn't heard from her in so long that he was beginning to forget the quick way she texted. He missed the ridiculous book references she made and how protective she was of her journal that he still had.  He was nearly at the end of it, drifting through August and September. Her thoughts then were like the dying summer weather: drowsy and warm, coaxing him into sleep. The words were loose and loopy, taking up more space then her other entries. Her topics were random and confusing, sometimes changing every few sentences. It made it hard for him to write his own responses.

"Barry, baby?" called his mother from the front door. He looked up from the journal then glancing at the clock. It was only four o'clock, much earlier than she normally came home.

"Is that you, Mom?" he asked, tucking the journal into his backpack.

"Oh, good, you are here. C'mere, Bear," she said. He walked to the front door, seeing his mother half-in and half-out of the house. When he came into her view, his shoes still on from school, she beckoned him forward.

"Where are we going?" he frowned.

" I want you to meet someone. I met him at work," she smiled, oblivious to his apprehension. Him? When did she meet a guy at work? She led him outside, clutching his hand with her thin fingers.

"Bear, this is Vincent. He's been helping out around the hospital and we've been... talking about some things," she said, introducing him to a barrel-chested man with red hair and freckles.

"Is that why you've been staying late?" Barry blurted. She nodded, eyes shining with tears.

"You know we can't stay here," she pleaded, "Vincent is offering to get us out. Tell him, Vince."

Great, nicknames.

"I know some people in the domestic violence department in the police precinct. They can-"

"No," Barry snapped. Vincent's thin eyebrows shot to his hairline and his mother squeezed his hand.

"I mean, not yet. If we leave now and go to the police, he'll just track us down. We need a plan," he amended.

"Hayley, this is your kid right?" Vincent asked, turning to Barry's mother. She nodded with tear-filled eyes.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow then," he said then waved goodbye and left in his black pick-up.

"I've got to get to work, Mom," Barry said after they watched the truck turn off the street.

"Of, course. Let's get you going," she said, pushing him back toward the door. As he got ready, his phone buzzed. She had sent him one text.

Meet me at the bookstore in downtown, Saturday at five.