The Boy Who Could Draw Tomorrow Page 3

  It was arranging the actual moving that almost broke their backs. How to do it? It was going to be hell packing up their four crammed rooms. It was a rental, only a block from University Medical Center, so noisy at night from the ambulances screaming to the emergency entrance that it was months after they'd moved in before either of them could sleep a straight eight hours. And it was worse for Sam. But small as the apartment was, it was jammed solid. Hal looked it over and said it was incredible what a little family could collect in such a short period of time, all the clever ways you could find for storing things you then forgot you had, and then they took a deep breath and started pulling it down from the tops of closets and out from under beds and tables draped to cover what was underneath. It was like opening a floodgate.

  So Hal hired a moving company and told the estimator to figure in the added costs of handling the packing and unpacking, too. It was shameless, this abandon, spending left-and-right as if they were rich people, when in truth they were already stretched to the limit of their resources. Sure, raises had come along with their promotions, big raises, but how far could the money go with bigger taxes, too? Still, there were certain things that just had to be done—and, besides, it was mad to think they could pull up in front of their new building, roll up their sleeves, and start unloading a Ryder truck. Peggy was so relieved to turn over the hideous donkey work of packing to someone else that she barely bothered to protest this latest stunning extravagance.

  So the men from Beverly came and the men from Beverly left—and though it was painless enough, it cost a mint and left Hal and Peggy feeling slightly decadent. But there was something else that left them feeling odd. One of the men, the one who introduced himself as the driver, looked strangely familiar. The more Hal and Peggy caught sight of the man as he shambled in and out of their rooms, the more they were convinced they'd seen him before—but not for the life of them could they remember where or when.

  "That guy," Hal said as they watched the van lumber away from the curb, "don't we know him from someplace?"

  "Beats me," Peggy said.

  But, like Hal, she had the same nagging, uneasy impression that she'd seen that face before.

  ***

  The thing to do was to cut corners on their vacation. On this, Peggy absolutely put her foot down. Instead of the Vineyard or the Cape or some lake up in Maine, she convinced him to fly to Florida and stay with her dad. Sam hadn't seen Val in almost three years—so it made perfect sense to make the trip and meanwhile to save on a hotel and having to eat out.

  Hal booked economy seats on Eastern. All the way out to LaGuardia they kept congratulating themselves on a job well done, so much accomplished so fast—new apartment, new kitchen, new jobs, new school—all ready and waiting for them when the week in Florida was up.

  "All right," Hal said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop, "I'm making an announcement and I want this family's strict attention." He grinned to show he was playing, really, but Peggy and Sam snapped straight up in their seats like soldiers awaiting orders. "I'm serious now," Hal insisted, a little too loudly.

  "We are listening, oh captain," Peggy crooned, and then, whispering, added, "and so is the driver."

  "Yeah, well," Hal said, lowering his hand sheepishly, "it's this. The way I see it, our lives have been too hectic for a little too long to be healthy. So I say that for the next seven days I want everyone to cool out. Do you read me?"

  "Read you loud and clear," Peggy said, barking her answer in military fashion while Sam, clowning, caved over in his seat, as if going limp was what his father wanted.

  "Don't do that!" Peggy cried, abruptly snatching at his shirt and almost tearing it. She didn't know why, but it had alarmed her, the way he'd suddenly fallen over like that. And although she did her best to compose herself, for the rest of the ride she was silent while Sam and Hal chattered away. She was suddenly filled with a feeling of dread, and no matter how she told herself to snap out of it, she could not. It wasn't at all like her to be moody and jumpy. Her nature was exactly the opposite of that. It must be all the excitement, she decided. Yes, that was it—her nerves were frazzled from all the energy she'd been putting out since the promotions had come through and their lives had gone rushing in so many new directions.

  She sat back in her seat, gently smiling just like her old self again. A week in Pensacola was what she needed, seven low-key days, a good solid rest.

  But even as Peggy scolded herself and tried to turn her mood around, the weight of something shadowy pressed ominously against her heart.

  ***

  While Hal and the driver struggled to get the luggage out, Peggy took Sam's hand and together they ran to check in at the ticket counter.

  "Hulluva family," the driver muttered as Hal fished in his pockets for the fare. "You're a lucky guy. Me, I wish I had a tenth as good."

  Hal nodded absently, but when he looked up to pay the man, he was stunned by the ruined, mournful eyes, one of them sliding slightly off-track as the cabbie returned Hal's glance.

  Once the plane was airborne, Hal loosened his seatbelt and leaned over to kiss Peggy and Sam, who was already busily at work on his Jumbo pad and just as industriously working on the wad of grape-flavored Bubblicious Peggy had treated him to on takeoff.

  "How you doing, old scout?"

  "Loose as a goose," said Sam.

  Hal ruffled his son's hair and then touched Peggy's knee with his fingertips.

  "Don't wake me when the lunch wagon comes, hear?"

  She patted his hand and smiled. He loved to see Peggy smile. It etched little tucks into her cheeks, trim brackets that set off the liquid contours of her lips. He smiled back, and then he fitted the stereo headphones to his ears. He switched channels until he found one that was playing a tape of old standards. Pushing back his seat as far as it would go, he yawned extravagantly, and presently fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

  Peggy would have liked to doze off, too. But that would be unfair to Sam. Besides, she'd have to see to his lunch and to the bathroom when he needed to go. Actually, she wasn't sure if she could sleep on a plane if she tried. Funny, how airplanes put her a little on edge. After all, her dad was a pilot. Hadn't she been around aircraft for as long as she could remember? But maybe that was the reason. Maybe it was like the old thing about the shoemaker's sons never having shoes. No, that wasn't the right saying. Well, it was something like that—the preacher's child, the doctor's child, something about things being upside down.

  Her jaw fell open in a yawn. She couldn't help herself. She wished they'd hurry with the food. How could she have forgotten to bring a book? She thought about checking the magazines in back, but all the good ones were bound to be gone by now. Besides, she'd have to climb over Hal to get into the aisle, and she didn't want to risk waking him yet. Time enough when Sam couldn't hold it anymore.

  She turned to look out the window and fixed her eyes on the horizon. But that only made her groggier.

  "Hungry, baby?"

  Sam didn't look up from his pad. He shook his head and showed his gum as if to say that was all anyone could reasonably want in his mouth.

  She pulled down the tray in front of his seat.

  "Here, rest your pad on this. It'll be easier."

  "Thanks, Mom. That's great."

  "Want to play a game? I'll play you Geography if you like."

  "Later, Mom, okay? After I finish this."

  She leaned over a little to see what he was working on. The head-on portrait of a man from the belt up filled the sheet of drawing paper, a leathery man that Peggy instantly recognized as her father.

  "That's Granddad," she said, thrilled. "Why, Sam, honey, that's amazing, the likeness. And you haven't seen Val in years."

  "You like it?"

  "It's wonderful, baby. But why did you stick that patch over his eye? You think Granddad's a pirate?"

  "I don't know," Sam said as he drew a pair of pilot's wings across the shirt pocket. "He flies airplanes, doesn'
t he?"

  "Not for a long time, sweetie—he's retired now."

  "Retired?"

  She was about to explain the meaning of the word when the feeling that she was going to sneeze sent her hand reflexively reaching for her purse. But it wasn't next to her in her seat. She felt behind her. It wasn't there either—nor could she see it by her feet on the floor. She looked at her lap as if it were possible to miss its presence there, some trick the eye had played.

  "My God!" she cried, tugging at her lip. "I don't believe it!"

  She felt Sam pulling at her arm, and when she looked, she saw his alarm as he swept the hair from his eyes.

  "It's all right, baby," she said, cupping his cheek. "It's just that I think I lost my purse. Oh lord, your daddy's going to have a fit."

  She undid her seatbelt and pushed gently at Hal's arm. "Hal, honey, get up, dear," she pleaded. "Honey, I can't find my handbag."

  ***

  One of the stewardesses helped them look through the plane. But it was no use. Peggy kept having to say that she hadn't been anywhere except her seat, and the stewardess kept saying it wouldn't hurt to look around, just to make sure. Peggy didn't know which was worse—feeling so foolish or being so exasperated with everyone who kept giving her advice she didn't need.

  All right, it wasn't such a terrible disaster, really. Hal had their traveling money—so, at worst, it just meant losing a few dollars and the hassle of having to get her credit cards replaced. And, oh yes, her driver's license, not that she needed it all that much.

  "Either you left it at the airport or in the cab," Hal said. "Unless you walked out of the apartment without it."

  "No," Peggy said. "I distinctly remember. I had it with me—because I remember getting my sunglasses out just before we got in the cab."

  "So, okay. When we touch down, we'll have Eastern check LaGuardia and I'll call the Hack Bureau. That's the best we can do—and if it's no soap, then we'll just have to start phoning the credit card companies and report the loss." He smiled and put his hand to her shoulder. "Details, honey, mere details. Just relax."

  For the rest of the trip, she tried to make a list of everything she had in her bag. Credit cards—that was the tough part. Did she have a Saks card? How about Altman's?

  Peggy was still running through all the New York department stores she sometimes shopped at when the plane started its descent for Pensacola.

  ***

  But they didn't have to call anybody. An Eastern agent was at the gate when they trooped off the airplane into the terminal. He spotted the Coopers instants before Peggy's father did—and in the confusion and excitement and relief, it took minutes before Peggy noticed something that made her legs go weak. First the Eastern agent told them not to worry, that the cab driver in New York had turned in her pocketbook to the Eastern desk at LaGuardia and it would be there waiting for her, safe and sound, on their return trip. Peggy could have kissed the man, she felt such a wave of relief. But then she saw her father, taller than the Eastern agent by a full head and standing just behind the smaller man as if waiting his turn in line.

  Val Potter had his arms out, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Sam recognized him immediately. The boy hurled himself against his grandfather's legs and flung his arms around his waist.

  "Val!" Hal stepped around the Eastern agent and clasped his father-in-law's hand.

  But Peggy stayed where she was. She had all she could do just to keep her knees from buckling and giving way.

  Her father, who had the vision of a professional pilot, was wearing a baseball cap and, beneath the bill, a black patch covered one eye.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  How good it was to see him, Peggy thought as she settled into the sane routine of her father's retirement. His wholesome normalcy was like a tonic after the frenetic pace of New York.

  Val was thrilled to see them, and delighted by the chance to show off his latest whiz-bangs. One was a goofy contraption that puffed steam and flashed whirling lights and deposited five pennies into a slot over a spout that then dispensed a glass of cherry Kool-aid.

  Sam couldn't get enough of it. He kept asking to go back out to the garage and try it again. But, over dinner that first night, Peggy scolded her dad for using up Florida's energy resources for no good reason but silliness.

  Val Potter was delighted. "What do you mean, no good reason? You call a five-cent glass of Kool-aid no good reason?"

  This reminded Sam, and he asked to be excused.

  "Can I, Granddad? Can I go back out to the garage?"

  Peggy scowled. "But, Sam, you haven't finished your milk, and you'll miss dessert."

  "There's watermelon," Val Potter said, fixing his grandson with one smiling eye.

  "I'll just be a second," Sam promised.

  "More likely one hundred and thirty-two seconds," Val Potter said, "which is how long she takes to run a cycle." He laughed uproariously. " No good reason."

  Peggy calculated whether she could ask what she wanted in that much time, and concluded she could. She wanted Sam out of the room when she raised the subject—and she was too tense about it to wait until the boy went to bed.

  "All right," she said. "But when you come back, milk first. No watermelon until you finish every last drop."

  They watched Sam skip through the kitchen to the garage door, his hand out to make contact with almost everything he passed.

  "And don't put your sticky hands all over Granddad's nice, clean walls!" Peggy called after him, and then, turning to her father and pointing to her own eye, she lowered her voice.

  "What happened, Pop?"

  "Aw, hell, I didn't want to worry you two," Val Potter said.

  "All right, but what happened?"

  "Metal shaving. Should have had my goggles on. Didn't."

  "You were horsing around in your workshop?" Hal said.

  Val Potter nodded, then went back to eating. "It's nothing. Forget it."

  "But how serious is it?" Hal persisted. "I mean, will you always wear that patch?"

  "My dogfighting days are over," Val Potter laughed, pushing his plate away from him and smiling like a boy caught at something infamously off-bounds.

  Peggy got up and put her arms around her father's neck. He hugged her and tried to get her to sit down again. "It's no big deal, kitten," he said gruffly. "Let's just skip the melodrama and get that watermelon on the table."

  "In a minute," Peggy said, standing over her father and looking down at him with deep concern in her eyes. "Just tell me how long ago it happened."

  "Why, just the other day. I figured there was no sense calling you about it, since you'd be here so soon anyway. Besides, it isn't important enough to deserve a long distance phone call."

  It was a warm night and the house was hot anyway from the dinner cooking. But Peggy's thoughts fixated on Sam's notebook, and she was chilled to the marrow.

  Val Potter stood staring at his daughter, totally nonplussed by the stricken look that had washed across her face. "I told you, Pegs, there's nothing to worry about."

  ***

  It wasn't conclusive. But it was enough to start her thinking. Sam couldn't have known about the eye. Yet it could have been a wild coincidence, a boy on his way to visit his grandfather and he happens to have pirates on his mind.

  Then she thought about the drawing of the moving van waiting at the curb to cart their belongings away. Was that a coincidence too? Yet what else could explain it? Nothing, she told herself sternly. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't like her to be this high-strung, and the sooner she got back to normal, the better.

  But that night, when the house was quiet and she and Hal sat watching the late movie on TV, Peggy still hadn't been able to shake off her mood of unease. She wondered if she should say something, at least hint that she was worried. Perhaps Hal would think of some explanation that could put her fears to rest. Hal was clever that way. Maybe he'd unravel the whole thing in two seconds flat. But something told her that Hal would be just as mystif
ied as she was. And then what? Everything would be worse—because that would get him to worrying too.

  She decided she had to protect Hal from that. It would be rotten to burden him with something else when he had so much on his plate already—the mortgage, the monthly maintenance, the greater responsibilities and pressures that came along with his new job. It was a high stress affair, working in the music business, especially if you were connected to the public relations end of it. That really put Hal on the spot—if he lost his job now, they'd really be screwed. So she decided not to say anything, although she hated having secrets from Hal. In fact, wasn't this the first one?

  The movie was awful—Aldo Ray in The Naked and the Dead. Besides, Peggy had seen it a thousand times, and she didn't like war movies to begin with, even if a shot was never fired.

  She was sleepy, and what she really wanted was to go to bed. But she was afraid that as soon as her head hit the pillow, a vision of little boys sitting in precise rows would unfurl behind her eyelids. Like the boys in the picture, she too would face the pig-nosed woman who stood with her back to the blackboard as she coolly regarded the pupil who had collapsed across his desk.

  She was being silly, wasn't she? Perhaps all Sam meant to suggest was that the boy was napping when he should have been paying attention to his lessons.

  She felt Hal's hand moving up under her breast and then his other hand high on the inside of her leg. He was still for a moment, and then he stirred again. She had on one of her dad's old Navy robes, and Hal was parting it now and undoing the belt.