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Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. I.
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. II.
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. 7
  20. 8
  21. 9
  22. 10
  23. III.
  24. 1
  25. 2
  26. 3
  27. 4
  28. 5
  29. 6
  30. 7
  31. 8
  32. 9
  33. IV.
  34. 1
  35. 2
  36. 3
  37. 4
  38. 5
  39. 6
  40. 7
  41. 8
  42. 9
  43. 10
  44. 11
  45. 12
  46. 13
  47. 14
  48. 15
  49. 16
  50. 17
  51. 18
  52. 19
  53. 20
  54. 21
  55. 22
  56. 23
  57. 24
  58. 25
  59. 26
  60. About the Author
  61. Also by Joyce Carol Oates
  62. About the Publisher

According to Monica’s Glenkill informants Flaxman had died of a cerebral hemorrhage in a distant city—Tokyo, or perhaps Calcutta—in what were said to be “ambiguous circumstances.” (In a brothel of some kind? Monica couldn’t help but wonder. Or had he been with a traveling companion Sheila knew nothing of?) He had died intestate but since he hadn’t any surviving children from his two previous marriages, and no close relatives, Sheila Trask must have inherited his entire estate—property in Bucks County and elsewhere, art holdings, investments. It was locally assumed that Sheila Trask was a millionairess several times over, despite the way in which she dressed (considered willfully slovenly by some, merely casual and “Bohemian” by others), and the condition of the battered Honda station wagon she drove, and her rumored frugality at Edgemont. (It was whispered that Sheila had become criminally negligent since her husband’s death—she was letting the old house go simply because she couldn’t be bothered with it.) The twenty-room stone-and-stucco house, impressive rather than beautiful, but decidedly impressive, had been built in 1830 by a Glenkill squire, and there were numerous parties, including the Bucks County Historical Society, keen on buying it: but Sheila Trask showed no inclination to sell. She was stubborn, she was indifferent, she was coy, she was simply waiting for a very high bid? . . . though perhaps she was sentimentally attached to the property and couldn’t bring herself to part with it at any cost. She was said to have insulted a Glenkill woman when asked about her “plans” for the future and for the house: “‘Plans’? What do you mean by ‘plans’? Why should I have any ‘plans’ about anything? Why should you be concerned—?” And all in response to an utterly innocent question.

Monica knew that Sheila’s words were literal—merely literal. She had no plans for the future or for Edgemont, she had no plans for herself, because her mind didn’t operate that way. Her mind operated in far different and far more fascinating ways.