THE RAIN CAME DOWN SO hard that I could barely see the scenery as we drove across to West Egg. East Egg, West Egg, old money, new money. It all looked the same: a blur of green, and the giant gray sound in between, and mansions obscured by a wash of raindrops.
Nick had telephoned yesterday, invited me for tea this afternoon. And he had told me, rather cryptically, to come alone. Or rather, his exact words were, Don’t bring Tom.
Tom who? I’d joked over the telephone.
But there had been something in the sound of Nick’s voice that had seemed so very serious, and I’d left the house this afternoon without telling anyone where I was going, not even Jordan. She and Nick, to my delight, had become quite friendly these past few weeks, and I wondered now if maybe he wanted to speak to me privately about her.
I’d been prepared to drive myself this afternoon, but then when I’d walked out to the garage, Ferdie, our chauffeur, said he wouldn’t allow it. “Not in this weather, Mrs. Buchanan.” He was a sweet, older man, and I took his chastising with the kindness in which I was sure it was intended.
I’d relented, given him Nick’s address, and then had watched from the back seat as old money blurred into new money. When we finally arrived at Nick’s adorable little house, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and Nick walked outside to greet me.
I got out of the car and straightened my hat, gave Nick a quick kiss on the cheek. “So this is your home? It’s absolutely charming,” I exclaimed.
It was charming, in that I’d almost forgotten how adorable a normal-sized house could look. I thought about my beloved childhood home back in Louisville. It was a grand house, for Louisville, but still small enough so I’d known every room intimately. There was something nice about that, something refreshing about seeing Nick living somewhere so… ordinary.
“Tell your chauffeur to drive around for an hour,” Nick whispered into my ear, so secretively.
I did what he asked. Then Nick took my hand, gripped it earnestly, and pulled me toward the porch. His expression was so serious, and his color turned a little pale. “Nick, now you’re making me nervous.”
“Just come into the house,” he said, opening the door and pulling me inside.
I took off my hat, smoothing my dampened hair with my hands. And my nose was immediately assaulted with the smell of fresh flowers. Nick’s parlor was small but the whole entire area of it was filled to the brim with flowers, vases and vases overflowing with what appeared to be the same bluebells and lilacs that grew wildly each spring in Louisville. “Nick?” I questioned again, but before he could answer, I suddenly heard footsteps, coming in from the other room.
I looked up, and Jay Gatsby stood there across Nick’s parlor, through the rows of bluebells, as I might have seen him once years ago back in Kentucky. He looked older, his hair was a little longer, his skin more weathered. And now instead of a soldier’s uniform he wore a tailored cream-colored suit with a silver shirt and gold tie. But it was unmistakably him. My heartbeat sped up; color rose in my cheeks.
Jordan had told me Nick’s Gatsby was indeed one and the same, that Jay was here in West Egg just across the sound. She’d gone to a party at his house a few weeks ago and had confirmed it to me afterward. But I didn’t quite believe it until right this moment. Besides, Jordan had said he was otherwise involved. That like me, he had moved on, and she suspected he barely remembered me at all.
Good, I’d said, waving my hand in the air. I feel the same about him.
But standing across the room from him again now, I wasn’t quite sure what to feel. Seeing Jay felt like seeing a ghost, seeing my beautiful, precious dead past standing right here in front of me, suddenly beating and gold and silver and alive all over again. And I heard Rose’s voice in my head: Daise, be good.
I closed my eyes, and she and I were walking to the poorhouse in Louisville, young and innocent and free and sweltering hot. And then the soldier’s car pulled up alongside us: You think I see the prettiest girls in all of Louisville needing a ride and I’m not going to stop?
“Daisy,” he said my name now, and his voice was still exactly the same. The déjà vu of it broke my heart. I opened my eyes, and he’d walked closer to me. His eyes held mine. I’d forgotten how shockingly green they were.
“Jay,” I said his name, and it felt funny on my tongue. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. “It’s been a long time.”
“Five years,” he said softly.
Five years. It was hardly any time at all; it was a lifetime. I could barely remember that girl I was five years ago, that life I had and took for granted. That careless way I’d lain with Jay in my childhood bed and thought the hardest, worst thing I’d ever feel was him leaving for New York, then for war. I’d na?vely thought Rose would always be with me, forever and ever after she survived the polio. That I’d have my daddy well into my older years.
I suddenly felt a little faint, and I gripped the edge of Nick’s couch. Jay caught my shoulders. “Sit down,” he said gently. “I’ll get you some water.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, and then I realized Nick was gone too. It was just me and the pounding of my own heart in my chest, and a million little bluebells floating in glass around Nick’s parlor. Until Jay swept back in, through the forest of flowers, a glass of water in his hand.
“Where’s Nick?” I asked, longing for my cousin to sit in between us, to break this weird spell I was feeling in Jay’s presence again.
“He stepped out for a bit,” Jay said softly. Stepped out? Of his own tea party.
Don’t bring Tom. Of course, there was no tea party. Nick had orchestrated this whole thing; it had been a setup all along to bring me and Jay together. I’d thought Nick was my friend. He was my cousin. But, no, his loyalties seemed to be with Jay. I might be upset with him if I weren’t also so overwhelmed with nostalgia.
I sipped my water slowly, and my body calmed. I took a breath and looked up. Jay was staring at me, his gaze so intense that I felt strangely naked. Overexposed. “So, tell me, Jay, how have you been?” I asked, my voice teetering with awkwardness.
“Daisy.” He touched my arm, and his fingers were warm. I had the sudden memory of them trailing down my bare stomach.
“I’m married,” I said quickly. “I have a daughter.” I was a different person five years ago. A girl. Not a wife. Not a mother. Not a Buchanan.
He nodded. He knew all this. Nick must’ve told him everything he thought there was to know about me. Jay stood and grabbed a folder from a satchel on the bench by the door. “Daisy, he’s no good for you.” He handed me the folder.
“What’s this?” I asked, uncertain I wanted it, whatever it was.
“Proof that he doesn’t love you,” Jay said.