Read Online The Edge of Lost by Kristina McMorris - Free Book Online Page A

“Nick.”
    Nick shook his head, gaze locked forward.
    Once more the officer flipped through the documents. He looked weary and agitated from issues of this kind. “Now, which of these children are”—he read from the paper—“Niccolò and Angelina?”
    “That’s me,” Nick jumped in, “and my sister here. And this is my brother, Tomasso.”
    The officer eyed Nick skeptically before switching his focus to Shan. “Tell me, young man. In Italy, did someone check you in upon boarding?”
    Shan froze, unsure how to answer. Not just regarding content. Back in Dublin, he’d earned many raves over his Yankee accent, but all by the Irish. Standing before an American now, one with raised suspicions, Shan suddenly doubted his ability to mimic.
    “Son, do you speak English?”
    Shan hesitated before nodding, aware more difficult questions would follow.
    “ Allora .” The mother’s interruption turned the officer. She clapped her hands once and clucked her tongue at a thought. “ Un momento, per favore . I show you, okay?” She gestured to the steamer trunk.
    The officer blew out a sigh. He waved his hand for her to proceed but not to dawdle.
    Nick unlocked the case and opened it. His mother knelt and scrounged around, searching under garments and shoes.
    Shan felt stares from every direction burrowing into his skin. Would someone remember him traveling with his uncle? He pulled his neck inward, a tortoise desperate for a shell.
    Finally the mother found a picture frame embroidered with grapes and ivy. In the photograph, among a group of Italians posed before a house, a younger version of the mother stood with a little girl and two boys, one of them propped on her hip.
    She rose and tapped the picture while handing it over. “You see? It is my children. Niccolò, Angelina, and Tomasso. All born in America. We take them to Siena to visit family, all of us together. You check, you see is true.”
    Her husband supported this with a close-lipped smile that seemed to be covering a scowl.
    The officer looked at Shan, then the picture, then Shan. The whole plan felt ridiculous and bound to fail. Under close scrutiny, surely a leprechaun couldn’t look more Irish.
    But the mother spoke again, more firmly. “What you do? Take a boy from his family, send him to Italy alone? Che pazzo! You believe a paper or a mother?”
    Challenging an officer with such boldness had further heightened the stakes. This much was clear from the man’s silence. They had gone too far.
    Shan gauged the area. Three staircases just ahead were marked with different signs. Three destinations. He could take off running, hope to choose the right one. If caught, he could explain it was all his doing, that the family wasn’t to blame.
    The officer returned the photograph. Without a word, he inked his stamp, marked the papers— thunk, thunk —and added their names to a ledger, ending with Tomasso.
    “Welcome home,” the man mumbled, and directed them to the proper stairway.
    It was official. They had passed.
    Still, Shan didn’t relax until the family was a good way down the steps, headed for the ferry. Behind the group, he helped Nick carry the trunk. When Shan had insisted it was the least he could do, Mr. Capello had sniffed his agreement.
    “Nick, I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Shan offered.
    “I told you I owed ya. A fella’s word is everything. Right?”
    The past few years Shan had spent plenty of time with people who gave no weight to promises.
    “Anyway,” Nick said, “you’re welcome to stay with us a while if you like.”
    The surprise of this almost caused Shan to miss a step. “Are you sure?” Not that he had anywhere else to go at the moment.
    “Eh. We’re Italian. The more, the better.”
    As they continued their descent, Shan’s mind flashed back to the portrait. He wondered about the child whose image had proved a savior. “The boy in the picture—Tommy, was it?”
    “Tomasso,” Nick corrected, his attention on