Free The Edge of Lost by Kristina McMorris

he should. Aside from the bag being tainted by death, it seemed a test of morals. That was before he recalled that much of the money he’d earned himself, lessening the intrusion.
    What he discovered inside came as a shock. For in the paper sack of meager savings was a portrait: a Yank sailor in uniform. And on the back, written in the same hand as the letter to Shan’s mam, was the name John Lewis .
    The fellow had a slight wave in his hair, which looked to be black. From his dark downturned eyes to rather thin lips, he mirrored Shan a decade older. His ears, too, made for a striking match, with one top rounded and the other more pointed. His skin, however, bore a deeper tone. Hinting to Italian, of all things. Or perhaps Shan’s view had been influenced by time spent with the Capellos.
    Whatever the case, Shan now had proof of a father. He was equally thrilled and befuddled that his uncle had not only kept the photo—presumably from the belongings of Shan’s mam—but also packed it for the trip. Until yesterday, it seemed the fame and riches of vaudeville alone had enticed Uncle Will to cross the Atlantic.
    But maybe that wasn’t so. Maybe, with Doc O’Halloran’s guidance, Uncle Will had recognized the chance at one act of decency before departing this world.
     
    “May I help you?” the secretary said, a second before lifting her gaze from the paperwork on her desk. At seeing Shan, weariness flickered in her eyes.
    “Yes, ma’am. I was hoping Chief Madison might be available.”
    “I see …” The woman wore her flaxen hair tight in a twist. It was her signature style, Shan guessed, based on his prior visits to the Navy recruiting office. Her blouse also was similar to before, with its pearly buttons and petal collar, but this time in dusty blue. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure that will be possible. Chief Madison is rather busy today.”
    “But it won’t take more than a few minutes.”
    “Yes. I’m sure that’s true, but—”
    A hammering rattled the room. The woman glowered at the wall that was being pounded from the other side. Posters featuring drawings of battleships and sailors rippled where they hung, and a wooden chair scooted as if nudged by a ghost. In the second chair a teenage boy continued to flip through The Saturday Evening Post . The secretary, troubled by the nuisance, cursed under her breath—just as the noise stopped.
    She snapped a glance at the chief petty officer’s closed door, as if to confirm he hadn’t heard. Then she returned to Shan, explaining, “A legal firm is preparing to move in next month. That is, if I don’t burn the place down first.” She smiled without humor, and Shan nodded politely.
    “As I was trying to say,” she went on. “I’d be happy to pass along a message for you.” She held a pencil over paper, ready to jot a note.
    Ten days ago, Shan had been exploring Broadway, in awe of its playhouses, when the sight of U.S. Navy painted on a window reeled him onto a side street. The recruiter on duty had been kind enough to listen to Shan’s case; he suggested checking in after a couple of weeks for any updates on tracking down the right John Lewis.
    Today marked Shan’s second visit since.
    “I was being hasty, I know, coming back last week,” he admitted. “But I really do need to speak to him in person. You see, I have a photograph this time.”
    The woman exhaled as though stifling a sigh. “You do understand this is a recruiting station?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I do.”
    She set down her pencil. “I’m sure Chief Madison would like to help. But given your situation, I think you’d get further at the Navy Yard. If you just go—”
    “But I’ve tried that. They said no one there could help me. That’s why, when I first saw your office, I thought maybe someone here could, and I was right.” Shan smiled to reinforce that he was referring not just to her boss, but to her as well.
    The secretary went to reply but held back, and her expression