A Dry Spell Hardback - 1997

Excerpt

When Tom closed his eyes, he emptied his mind of Karen, of the trees, of Goodlands, of the incredible dryness here that he couldn't explain.  He reached up, farther and farther, and found the rain.  He tried again, as he had many time that day, to pull it toward him.  When he grabbed at it, he could not hold on.  And he could tug it a little, as though his door to the sky was all but closed.  But he couldn't bring it in.

He strained against the sky, teeth clenched, lips pulled back in a grimace.  The muscles of his face and body stiffened with the exertion.  He found a neat little pocket of rain to the west of them.  He settled on it.  He worked the sky through his little doorway.

The heat in the meadow was impossible.  Full, sultry.  Karen was still looking into Tom's face, had watched it change, settle, relax, when she heard the first sound.  A trickle as if from a stream.  Something familiar filled her hand.  It broke through the heat in her body and chilled the flesh of her palm--a little pool of cool, fresh water.  It trickled down through the tiny spaces between her fingers, down to her elbow.  She could feel it.  See it.  Smell it.
RAIN.

Media reviews

"A rare piece of work...Reminiscent of the early Stephen King...a story that is heartfelt and contains a touch of myth."
-Chicago Tribune

"Absorbing...Moloney intertwines powerful psychological, supernatural and sexual undercurrents."
-Entertainment Weekly


From the Paperback edition.