“I know, sweetheart,” Megan answered, forcing a calm she did not feel.
For three years she had studied nursing at night at a community college in the South Side. During the day she scrubbed office floors in River North to pay rent on their small apartment in Pilsen.
Everything she had endured was for this morning’s interview. A stable position at Saint Aurora meant steady income, health insurance, and the chance to move Harper to a better public school near Lincoln Park.
“Your interview is at 9:30,” Harper insisted softly.
Megan glanced at her watch and felt her chest tighten. “It is 9:35 now, but we are not leaving until she is safe.”
The older woman stirred again and looked frightened. “Where am I, and where is my son?”
“You had a fall,” Megan explained while checking the wound carefully. “You hit your head, so you might feel confused, but help is coming.”
Across the street, Patrick O’Connell stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. His mother, Dorothy O’Connell, was lying on the pavement, and a young nurse in uniform was tending to her with focused precision.