I TOOK A BATH BEFORE leaving for Jay’s, trying to wash away all the filth and horror of the night before. I lingered, scrubbing every last bit of my skin. And then, instead of the pretty white dresses I’d been lounging around in all summer, I pulled a short black dress out of the very back of my wardrobe.
This dress had been a gift from Mother for my twenty-first birthday, shipped to Lake Forest from her favorite tailor in Louisville, and supposedly quite fashionable for the kinds of parties she imagined we were attending in Chicago. It was above the knee, as had been the fashion only a year ago, unlike this summer when long hemlines were in style again. But I didn’t care about that. The black dress reminded me of death. Of Daddy’s and Rose’s funeral, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to wear it. Until now.
I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, but I felt too jittery to be exhausted. And every time I tried to close my eyes, even in the tub, all I could see was Tom’s woman flying through the air. The shocked expression on her face, like she couldn’t believe we’d hit her, she couldn’t believe that she was about to die.
“We have to stop,” I’d yelled at Jay after she hit the car last night, my foot going for the brake. But he’d shoved me out of the way and hit the gas with his own foot, his body covering mine, pressing against mine. I was no longer in control. (Was I ever really in control?) He was driving, on top of me. Smothering me. But he had to stop. He had to be stopped.
“Daisy,” he’d said, and his voice was so soft I could barely hear it over the roar of the engine and the roar of the hot night and the roar of death in my ears. “There’s nothing we can do, even if we do stop. And I won’t let you go to jail.”
Jail? But I hadn’t done anything. Jay had grabbed the wheel.
What can I do to prove my love for you? he’d said, just before she ran out into the road. Did he not realize there would just be another city, another woman? They were disposable to Tom. We all were.
“I didn’t hit her,” I’d shouted at Jay, my voice trembling as I’d finally stopped the car, in East Egg, in front of my house. “You did.”
“Oh Daisy.” Jay shook his head. “You were driving.”
“But you grabbed the wheel. It was… out of my control.” Everything was, wasn’t it. My marriage, my whole entire life. Even this car when I was supposedly in the driver’s seat.
“I was trying to help you swerve, to miss her. But it was too late.” Jay spoke so intently, that for a moment I wondered if he was telling the truth.
But then I shook my head. That wasn’t what had happened. I’d been the one trying to swerve; I’d tried to stop. Jay had pushed me out of the way. Jay had forced the car to hit her.
“You were drinking, Daisy,” he said softly. “Everything is blurry.”
“No,” I said. “That’s not what happened.” I would never hurt anyone intentionally, not even her. Would I?
Be good, Daise.
I was suddenly gasping for breath, unsure what was true and what wasn’t. I’d pushed the car door open and run out of the car.
“Daisy, wait!” Jay cried after me. I’d ignored him, and I ran up the drive toward the house. “Daisy, I’ll sit out here all night if I have to. I’ll never leave you,” he yelled.
I’d run into the house and sat in the kitchen and sobbed. And by the time Tom and Jordan got back, nearly an hour later, Jay and his car were gone.
* * *
BY MORNING, I knew what I needed to do.
I’d spent half the night arguing with Tom, going back and forth over who was to blame and for what. Myrtle didn’t deserve that, Tom kept on saying. She didn’t deserve that.
What did I deserve? That didn’t seem to concern Tom as much.
I’d watched the sun rise over the garden, and a new clarity had suddenly washed over me. Jay had grabbed the wheel from me in the car, and Tom was constantly grabbing the wheel from me in our life. Enough. I wanted to be in control. I wanted to drive my whole entire life, all on my very own.
“I’m leaving you,” I’d said to Tom all of a sudden, as dawn broke.
He’d laughed a little, like he didn’t believe me.
“I’m done,” I said. And I was.
Tom stared at me, his mouth a gaping hole.
But the thought of it, the delicious thought of it. Being free. Being in control. It burgeoned up inside of me like the yellow roses in the garden that had suddenly opened their faces to the sun last week. I could just get up, and I could leave. I could catch a train later this afternoon to Louisville with Pammy, and I could stop being Tom’s wife. Just like that. I could be Daisy Fay from Louisville again and Pammy’s mother. Away from Tom, I could make sure Pammy wouldn’t make the mistakes I’d made, that she would never marry anyone like Tom, or date anyone like Jay. That she could grow up strong and fearless. Nobody’s fool.
“You’re not going anywhere, Daisy.” Tom laughed again.
“I mean it, Tom. I’m really and truly done,” I’d insisted, petulantly.
We’d locked eyes and I’d refused to look away. And perhaps he’d finally believed me, because then he’d gotten up, stormed out of the house angry as a hornet, leaving to go god knows where.
But it didn’t matter anymore. His absence already freed me.
I drank a cup of coffee to wake myself up, and I’d hatched a plan in my mind. First, I would go to West Egg, talk to Jay. Tell him once and for all to leave me alone. Tell him that I never wanted to see him again, that I was leaving, and he’d better not follow me. Then I’d pack up Pammy’s things, and we’d get on the train to Louisville later today.
It was a fine plan, and I’d felt lighter than I had in years as I’d floated up the stairs to tell Jordan.
* * *
AFTER MY BATH, dressed in my funeral black, I finally made it out to the garage. Tom’s blue coupe was gone. So was Jordan’s car. I hoped she wasn’t too disappointed in me. She had frowned when I’d told her of my plan earlier, and I hoped she would still love me once I was a disgraced woman. A divorced woman. But it couldn’t be helped. This was what I had to do.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it, Mrs. Buchanan? But it’s going to be another hot one,” Ferdie said, pausing from his work polishing the white coupe. “Can I drive you somewhere?”
“No, Ferdie. I’m driving myself today,” I insisted, even though the thought of driving again made my hands shake a little. It didn’t matter that it was bright outside now, that I was completely sober. I could not forget the sound of her body as it hit the windshield, the look on her face. Oh, that god-awful look. But I was driving myself from now on, no matter what.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Buchanan?” Ferdie asked. “You look a little tired.”
“Get me the keys,” I insisted, obstinately. “I am perfectly well.”
Ferdie complied, and I got into the white coupe and turned the key. I took a deep breath and gripped the wheel too tightly, but then I drove down the long drive slowly.
I stopped before turning out onto the main drag and lit a cigarette to calm myself. I took a few puffs and hung my left arm out the side.
And then, altogether calmer, I drove toward West Egg, the warm morning air swirling against my face.
Catherine August 1922
WEST EGG