"What do you mean he reads clouds?"

"Just what I said. He's like a fortune teller with tea leaves only he reads clouds."

"That's nuts."

"Hey, I'm just telling you what I heard. Kenny says he asked the guy about getting his driver's license and the guy told him the clouds said yes, but not the first try."

"That must have pleased Kenny."

"Yeah well when he went he didn't pass but they told him to come back in a month and they would give him his permit, so there."

"Well it's still nuts. The clouds said. Right. What's his name again?"

"Hector Nublado. He lives somewhere out on Larkpoint."

That was the first time I heard of Hector Nublado, the Cloud Reader.

******

My name is Molly Howe. I'm twelve and three quarter years old, and I'm almost as tall as my mom. I live at fifty-seven Woody Lane with mom and my pesky younger brother, Brian. My dad is a soldier and he went away not too long ago-I don't know where-and he hasn't come back home yet. My mom was very unhappy and scared when he left and we learned that it was wise to stay out of her way or we would get yelled at.

Finally, after too many arguments and upset feelings, mom sat Brian and I down at the kitchen table and tried to explain what could happen to our family if anything happened to dad. It was confusing and upsetting but Brian and I said we understood if only to end the troubling amount of information. She added that he might have to go away somewhere else and that it was possible we might not see him for a long time.

We still don't really understand but mom says she and dad are hoping he will return home soon and things will work out okay. Meanwhile, working out, it seems, was deciding on a schedule for Brian and I to follow when we were home alone without mom. She had to go out to work because dad couldn't send enough money home from wherever he was to pay all the bills. Mom just cried when she told us.

*****

We did the best we could over the summer, helping out without too much fuss and accepting the fact that there was little money for treats and extras. When summer vacation ended and we were back in school, mom got a call from the army saying dad was being shipped home because he was sick and that he would be in an army hospital for a while then transferred to our local hospital if he didn't improve.

The strain on mom was huge and both Brian and I could see it and we were scared. There were other kids at school who only had one parent at home for one reason or another, and they seemed to be getting along okay. But when Brian began failing his grades and becoming a problem in class, mom had to see the principal and explain the family situation, promising to devote extra time to his needs.

After a while things improved a little but he was still behaving like a brat. It wasn't until mom came to my school one day and took me out of class. When I asked what was wrong, she told me that dad had been transferred to the local hospital like they said and that he was very sick. Brian was already in the car, crying, and he started bawling even louder when I got in.

At the hospital, the doctor told mom that we should wait in the lounge because it might be too upsetting for everyone if we went to dad's room. Brian and I sat alone in the corridor, crying together while people passed by throwing sympathetic looks but little comfort. When mom came out she was all white and her eyes were rimmed with red.

She came and sat beside us, gathering us both up in her trembling arms. Dad was sick-that much we guessed-how sick was a different story. Mom told us the best she could, which wasn't much, because the doctors couldn't find anything concrete; it had something to do with dad's reaction to his army business; it had been going on for some time.

"But why wouldn't dad tell us?"

"He just didn't know how, honey. He couldn't even tell me. He was very scared, mostly about leaving us all alone."

"But he went away anyway," Brian complained through tears.

"That was because he had to, Brian. It was his job as a soldier; he still loves us all very much."

"But what happens now," I asked.

Mom looked at me and started to cry again. "I don't know. I just don't know."

A week later, walking to school with Carrie, my best friend, she mentioned Kenny's story about a man he met who read in the clouds that Kenny would get his driver's license. I just laughed and told her it was nonsense. Carrie shrugged and asked what harm there was in asking.

Maybe he could tell me what was going to happen to my dad. I still sneered at the idea but it wouldn't leave me alone and all day. The thought kept playing through my mind. After school I waited around at the gate for Kenny and when he came out I asked him about this man who supposedly read clouds.

"It's true," he said, shrugging as he kept walking.

"But how? I mean maybe it was just a coincidence." I hurried alongside, as Kenny didn't show much consideration for my difficulty in keeping pace.

"No way. I went twice and both times he was bang on."

"What's his address?" I asked doubtfully.

He slowed and looked at me with suspicion. "Who wants to know?"

"Me, I want to know."

"What for?" He started walking again. I didn't know what to say and when I hesitated, Kenny gave me a brush off wave and started moving faster.

"It's my dad," I blurted, bringing him to another stop. "He's sick and I just. I just wondered if."

"Aw hey, I'm sorry Molly. You shoulda said before. It can't hurt I guess . . . sure, go ask the guy."

The address Kenny gave me was way out at the end of town in a rundown area called Larkpoint. At one time, mom told us, Larkpoint was a very popular place for summer homes, picnics and traveling fairs. People came from all over to spend the day in the rolling fields, playing croquet and bocce and listening to small groups of wandering musicians, but now it was a jumble of shabby houses, untended property and populated mostly with immigrants who supplied the town's industry with cheap labour.

Three or four kids from my school lived in the area; one of them, Peter Bandovitch lived just down the street from where I was headed. I rode my bike past Peter's house, noticing that it was kind of small and not very well kept; I never thought much about my classmate's homes before. I kept riding up to the end of the small, unpaved street and stopped in front of the address Kenny gave me.

The house was tiny, so tiny it looked like it might have just one room and it was quite a way back from the road. A tin chimney tilted away from the sway-backed roof, straining at the thin wire holding it in place. Behind the porch railing I could see plastic flower boxes hung precariously below the two small windows on either side of the door, their contents looking surprisingly healthy.

The house stood alone on an undefined piece of property a long way from any of its neighbours and there was no mailbox out front like the other places on the street had. It looked strangely out of place.

I leaned my bike against the front gate and walked nervously up to the front door, hesitating before taking a deep breath and knocking softly. I heard movement behind the door and then it opened and a small man stood in the doorway, his head canted to one side and a curious smile on his tanned face. Little tufts of grey hair formed a fringe around his shiny head and matching eyebrows bobbed curiously over intense, dark eyes.

"Are- are you Mister Nublado?"

"Si. And you are?"

"Uh- my name is Molly. Molly Howe."

The smile stayed fixed and the head tilted even further. "What can I do for you, Molly Howe?"

"I uh- I- I." The door swung open and the man stepped out onto the little porch.

He was almost as short as me and I backed away, tongue-tied and suddenly feeling very foolish. "Uh- a friend of mine said you could- that you told him-"

"You want me to read the clouds for you." It was a statement not a question.

"Huh?" I blushed and looked down the walk to my bike. It seemed so far away.

"Come, sit here." He pointed to a bumpy looking bench, upholstered with cracked, leather-looking plastic, at the end of the porch.

We sat side by side and I relaxed slightly under his sympathetic, patient smile. "I'm right, si? You want me to read the clouds for you?"

"Well. I heard from- from a boy at school that you told him some- some things that- well."

"And you are skeptical but very curious, no?" He smiled wider and stared off into the sky. "Your friend is named, Kenny, right?" I nodded. "Kenny's interest was purely in himself; readings for people like that are very simple. Mostly it's a matter of telling them what they want to hear, which gives them the confidence to go out and make it happen. We are all the masters of our own fates, Molly Howe. The bumps in the road are merely reminders that we must keep a focus on our goals."