Free When Dogs Cry by Markus Zusak Page B

jacket. Bright blue sky. Climbing clouds. The hands of the sun, reaching down. I could see all of it.
    â€˜And Cameron?’ she asked.
    I returned from my vision.
    â€˜I’ll wait for you.’ She let her eyes hit the ground and arrive again, in mine. ‘You know what I mean?’
    I nodded, slowly.
    She would wait for me, to talk, and to be with her the way I could be. I guess we could only hope it would just be a matter of time before it happened.
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said, and rather than letting me watch her go inside, Octavia stayed at the gate and waved eachtime I turned around to allow myself one last glimpse of her. With every turn, I whispered, ‘Bye Octavia,’ until I was around the corner, on my own again.
    Memories of the ride home are shaded by the haziness of a train ride at night. The clacking of the train rolling and turning over the tracks still rides through me. It gives me a vision of myself sitting there, travelling back to where I came from, but a place that would no longer be the same.
    It was strange how Sarah could sense it immediately.
    She could see the change in me straight away, in the way I existed in our house. Maybe I moved differently or spoke differently, I didn’t know. I
was
different though.
    I had my words.
    I had Octavia.
    In a way, it seemed like I wasn’t pleading with myself any more. I wasn’t begging for those scraps of alrightness. I just told myself to be patient, because, finally, I was standing somewhere close to where I wanted to be. I’d fought for this, and now I was nearly there.
    Much later in the night, Rube came home and slumped like always into bed.
    Shoes still on.
    Shirt half-undone.
    There was a slight smell of beer, smoke, and his usual cheap cologne that he didn’t need because the girls fell over him anyway.
    Loud breathing.
    Smiling sleep.
    It was typical Rube. Typical Friday night.
    He also left the light on, so I had to get up and switch it off.
    We both knew good and well that Dad would be waking us in the morning when it was still dark. I also knew that Rube would get up, and he’d look rough and tired and yet still pretty damn good. He had a way of doing that, my brother, which annoyed the absolute hell out of me.
    As I lay there, across from him, I wondered what he would say when he found out about Octavia and me. I went through a whole list of possibilities in my mind, because Rube was likely to say anything, depending on what was happening at the time, what had previously happened, and what was going to happen next. Some of the things I thought of were:
    He’d slap me hard across the back of the head and say, ‘What the hell are y’ thinkin’ Cam?’ Another slap. ‘Y’ don’t do that sort of thing with y’ brother’s old girlfriend!’ Another slap, and one more, just in case.
    Then again, he might just shrug. Nothing. No words, no anger, no mood, no smile, no laugh.
    Or he might pat me on the back and say, ‘Well Cam, it’s about time you pulled y’ finger out.’
    Or maybe he’d be speechless.
    No.
    No chance.
    Rube was never speechless.
    If there was nothing he could think of saying, he’d most likely look at me and exclaim, ‘Octavia!? Really!?’
    I’d nod.
    â€˜Really!?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜Well that’s just bloody brilliant, that is!’
    The situations merged through my mind as I fell down slowly into sleep. My dreams collected everything up until a hard hand shoved me awake at quarter past six the next morning.
    The old man.
    Clifford Wolfe.
    â€˜Time to get up,’ said his voice, through the darkness. ‘Wake that lazy bastard too.’ He jerked his thumb over at Rube, but I could tell he was smiling. With Dad, Rube and me, calling each other bastards was a term of endearment.
    The job was right on the coast, at Bronte.
    Rube and I pretty much dug under the house all day, listening to the