The Boy Who Could Draw Tomorrow Read Online Free PDF Page A

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,