Sourland by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online Page B

Thanksgiving—to the house on Winant Drive. And there was a family Thanksgiving a mile away at the Hodge Road house of elderly Mrs. Hay to which numerous people came of whom Rhonda knew only a few—and cared to know only a few—mainly Madeleine and Drex of course—there was the disconcerting appearance of Drex’s brother Edgar from Chevy Chase, Maryland—identified as an identical twin though the men more resembled just brothers than twins. Edgar Hay was said to be a much wealthier man than Drex—his business was pharmaceuticals, in the D.C. area; Drex’s business was something in investments , his office was on Route One, West Windsor. The Hay twin-brothers were in their late sixties with similar chalky scalps visible through quills of wetted hair and bulbous noses tinged with red like perpetual embarrassment but Edgar was heavier than Drex by ten or fifteen pounds, Edgar’s eyebrows were white-tufted like a satyr’s in an old silly painting and maddeningly he laughed approaching Rhonda with extended arms— Hel-lo! My sweet li’l step-niece happy Turkey-Day! —brushing his lips dangerously close to Rhonda’s startled mouth, a rubbery-damp sensation Rhonda thought like being kissed by a large squirmy worm. ( Call me Ed-gie he whispered wetly in Rhonda’s ear That’s what the pretty girls call me. ) And Madeleine who might have observed this chose to ignore it for Madeleine was already mildly drunk—long before dinner—and poor Drex—sunken-chested, sickly pale and thinner since his heart attack in August in high-altitude Aspen, Colorado, clearly in some way resentful of his “twin” brother—reduced to lame jokes and stammered asides in Edgar’s presence. And there was Rhonda restless and miserable wishing she hadn’t come back home for Thanksgiving—for she’d have to return again within just a few weeks,for Christmas—yet more dreading the long holiday break—wishing she had something useful to do in this house—she’d volunteered to help in the kitchen but Mrs. Hay’s cook and servers clearly did not want her—she’d have liked to hide away somewhere and call her roommate Jessica in Portland, Oregon, but was fearful she might break down on the phone and give away more of her feelings for Jessica than Jessica had seemed to wish to receive from Rhonda just yet…And there was Rhonda avoiding the living room where Hay relatives were crowded together jovial and overloud—laughing, drinking and devouring appetizers—as bratty young children related to Rhonda purely through the accident of a marital connection whose names she made no attempt to recall ran giggling through a forest of adult legs. Quickly Rhonda shrank back before her mother sighted her, or the elderly white-haired woman who insisted that Rhonda call her “Grandma”—sulkily making her way along a hall, into the glassed-in room at the rear of the house where Mrs. Hay kept potted plants—orchids, African violets, ferns. Outside, the November air was suffused with moisture. The overcast sky looked like a tin ceiling. A few leaves remained on deciduous trees, scarlet-bright, golden-yellow, riffled by wind and falling and sucked away even as you stared. To Rhonda’s dismay there was her stepfather’s brother—Drex’s twin—wormy-lipped Edgar—engaged in telling a story to a Hay relative, a middle-aged woman with a plump cat-face to whom Drex had introduced Rhonda more than once but whose name Rhonda couldn’t recall. Edgar was sprawled on a white wicker sofa with his stocky legs outspread, the woman in a lavender silk pants suit was seated in a matching chair—both were drinking—to her disgust and dismay Rhonda couldn’t help but overhear what was unmistakably some crude variant of the story of the stabbing of long ago—narrated in Edgar’s voice that managed to