He looked back and shrugged. "Maybe she's not going anywhere. Maybe she just hangs out there because it's a warm place to be. She looks like a bag lady."
"What's a bag lady?"
"People who have no home," he said. "They wander around and carry their entire belongings like that in a bag. Some push carts."
"Why don't they have homes?"
"Lots of reasons, Jordan."
"Are we going to become bag people?" He looked at me. "Hardly," he said. And then I saw his eyebrows rise and his eyes narrow. "Maybe, in a way, if Mother and Father don't return," he added. As the bus pulled away. I looked back and saw the elderly lady step out of the station and start walking down the sidewalk. Ian was right. She wasn't waiting for a bus after all. I thought. What was she waiting for?
Suddenly, being out in the world like this was as frightening to me as seeing a black bear only yards away in the forest. What else would we find? What else awaited us at the end of this trip? Cities always made me nervous as it was, even with our parents beside us. There were so many people and cars and buildings. It looked easy to get lost and Mama always warned me about staying close and never listening to any stranger. There were traps everywhere. Could Ian get us through it all safely? Had I made a mistake going with him?
"How do you know where to go, Ian?" I asked him.
"I retrieved all the information we need through my computer," he said. "I have directions." He took some folded papers out of his pocket. "Once we get to the hospital, it will be easy to find Mother. I'm hoping the doctor will be there or someone with information for us. We have a right to know about her condition," he added. He put the papers back into his pocket. "Miss Harper will lock me in my room again," I told him.
"We'll see about that."
"Grandmother Emma said she would send you to a military camp."
He looked at me as if he thought I had made it up.
"She did," I said.
"We'll see about that, too," he told me. "Remember how I told you to act when we left," he said as the bus picked up speed. "Walk as if there is nothing wrong, as if you know exactly where you are going and what you are doing. That way no one will question or bother us."
I nodded, but I wasn't sure I could do it as well as he could. I watched him constantly and tried to imitate the way he sat, how he looked forward, even his facial expression. When the bus arrived at the station in Philadelphia, he took my hand.
"We'll take another taxi," he said, seeing all the cabs parked nearby.
As soon as we stepped off the bus, we approached another driver. "Moss Rehabilitation Center," Ian told him, as though he had been taking taxicabs there for years.
This time the driver didn't question us to see if we had money or even give us a quizzical look. He opened the door for us and we got in. He asked us no questions while he was driving either. He just drove off, weaving his way quickly through the traffic as if we were actually on an emergency. He was driving so fast I thought we were going to be in an accident, which would surely ma
ke Grandmother Emma very angry, but Ian sat calmly staring out the window at the people on the sidewalks, the stores, the traffic. I was quite interested in it all, as well
After we pulled up to the entrance. Ian paid the driver and we walked into the center. I couldn't help looking at everything, even though Ian wanted me to be like him and keep my eyes forward and not look so confused and frightened. No one took much notice of us anyway, even though any other children we saw were with adults. Ian found the information desk and asked for Caroline March. The lady behind the counter was very pleasant and gave him a paper that showed how to get to where Mama was being treated. The woman didn't say anything else about her, but she did smile at me.
When we arrived on the floor, a tall, thin, redheaded nurse came out of a room and greeted us immediately. Ian explained who we were. She stood there staring at him and me for a moment and then asked who had brought us.
"Our grandmother arranged for us to come by limousine," he said without hesitation. "Is my mother's doctor on the floor?" he continued. "No. not at the moment," she replied. She looked like she didn't quite believe him, but I could see she wasn't perfectly confident about it.
"Are you her case manager then?" he asked. That raised her eyebrows. "No, Mrs. Feinberg is," she said. "One moment."
She went to the main desk and another nurse, much older, stouter, and shorter, looked up from some paperwork at us. She shrugged at the redheaded nurse and then came around the desk to us.
"Hello," she said, smiling. "I'm Mrs. Feinberg. I understand you are Mrs. March's children."
"Yes, ma'am," Ian said. "We're here to see how she is and visit, please."
"What do you know about your mother's condition?" she asked him.
"We know she had a brain trauma from the car accident and she's been in a coma. Has she moved into a vegetative state?" Ian continued, without showing any signs of crying or fear.
"You understand what that means?"
"Yes, ma'am. I am well aware that if she remains in that state too long, she would be less likely to regain full consciousness." "Who explained all that to you?"