I heard the news from Tom, who reported it coldly over coffee.
“Cook tells me there was a disturbance across the way yesterday. That Wilson fellow tracked down his wife’s killer and shot him.”
I gripped my coffee cup. I stopped breathing. For an instant, a wild hope emerged, that Wilson had shot a servant. But Jay had sent the servants away.
In that instant, I knew my lover was dead, and I no longer had leverage over Tom.
“Wh-what…” I murmured and then stilled as the news hit home.
I had loved Jay, loved him with all the pure, sweet affection of one’s first attachment. To leave him, to betray him, was to betray oneself. And that was why I’d been so tortured all those years until reuniting. I’d thought I had cheated myself, not just Jay, upon marrying Tom. I had given up trying to be good and kind and tender. I’d thought one couldn’t be that way and survive.
I wanted to ask for more details but couldn’t. I choked on the words. I blinked fast to avoid tears. I stared at Tom, daring him to say more, knowing he would because it would hurt me. How cold he was.
“Just marched in to the house, found him in the pool, and fired his pistol. Good aim, apparently.” Tom smirked. “They’ll have to drain the pool now, of course.”
Of course. I put down my napkin, stood, and walked silently up to my room, where I closed the door and sat on the bed, trembling.
Tears came, then sobs that I didn’t bother hiding. Let Tom hear. Let him hear how much I loved Jay. I moaned and wailed. I got up and paced. I cursed. I wanted the world to witness my anguish.
Loathsome Tom, giving me the news with such glee. I’m sure he now believed in his heart that Jay had been Myrtle’s killer, after all. In a short time, he would erase all doubt and remember it this way, that Jay had run over his mistress. For all I know, Tom might have later told Nick that I was behind the wheel that night, thus triggering his version of the tale.
My heart was again broken, that again the world of sunshine and love and beauty and tenderness had drifted out of reach. The world and life had again disappointed me.
I, like Jay, had lived in a fairyland before the war. Peaceful, hopeful, loving, gentle. Those years, our youthful years, were everything you’d wanted as you stepped into the world. And then… destruction on a level unimaginable. Illness scouring the land as if an avenging angel had come to punish all of us for the folly of the war.
Everything changed after those years of rupture, and he’d spent such a long time searching, searching for me, trying to get it all back. Seduced by Jay’s fantasy, I, like him, thought we both could reclaim our pre-war happiness because I wanted the same thing. But I didn’t know how to turn back the clock, to go back in time and recapture everything we had lost—that Eden in which we’d grown up.
There was no going back, only moving forward. Jay, of all people, should have known that, he with his aspirations for success, his drive always toward the horizon.
The phone rang. It was Nick. I heard Tom tell him I was in-disposed. It rang again. Jordan this time—she’d stayed in the city rather than squeeze into the coupe with Jay and Nick that awful night after the afternoon at the Plaza. Tom gave the same excuse to her. I wasn’t feeling well, couldn’t come to the phone.
His steely voice told me I had to get away and soon. No more waiting to sell jewelry or finalize plans. Panicked and grief-stricken, I had to find the courage and wits to get out from under his control. With Pammy. No one could make this plan for me. I had to do it myself.
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t speak to Nick or Jordan. After all, what would I say? Tom was carefully watching me, so I couldn’t afford to make him angry. If I did, my future would include a visit or two from Dr. Prinz with his long syringe. Then I’d be lucky to see Pammy when she visited me in an asylum.
My mind and heart were tumbling, my thoughts and feelings a knotted ball I couldn’t pull apart. I just put one foot in front of the other that day and during the hours to come. Of Tom’s moving plans, I nodded approval. I helped Nanny pack Pamela’s things. I boxed up some of my items. All these actions were parallel to my own planning. As my fogged mind cleared, I knew what I had to do and plotted the best time to do it.
Jay’s death felt like a constant ache, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. The irony of his loss was that, sometime on the road back home from the city that dreadful night, I’d been coming to the conclusion that I couldn’t be with him, not for any length of time, at least. The real reason I’d not immediately fled to his mansion with Pamela was my hesitation at being imprisoned in yet another gilded cell. The real reason I had continued to send messages for him to be patient was that I wasn’t sure I would ever show up.
Even with those realizations, I never wanted his life snuffed out. Certainly not like this. His life was taken in such a despicable way, killed by a garage owner from that ash heap part of town, and not in some grand heroic way that would have immortalized him in an appropriate fashion.
Now that he was gone, though, I could chart a course free of worrying that he’d come looking for me again. To realize this benefit of his passing only added to my grief.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but eventually, maybe sooner than was seemly, I even felt some relief, knowing I wouldn’t have to run away from two men, one of whom had already spent years tracking me down and could possibly do so again.
Nick later reported to me the pathetic gathering at Jay’s funeral. Just Nick and a few others. He had attracted hundreds to his parties, and many felt left out if they’d not attended one.
Jay had created a dream life for himself, and it turns out all his friends were imaginary, too.
I couldn’t spend too much time thinking of these things, though later I pondered them at length, wondering if I really had been a fairy that summer. Sometimes, I cried at the thought of Jay dying alone, and with so few to mourn him.
At that moment, I had problems I needed to face—Tom. During those days of planning to move, he had a look in his eye that sent shivers down my spine. Cold. Evaluating. Waiting for the moment we were in a new home, with no one around to watch out for me, to protect me from his slowly simmering anger. He would make me pay for my infidelity.
I had to give it one last look before we left, and in the early morning hours two days later, I stole out of my bed, tied a scarf around my neck, and drove to West Egg without Tom’s knowledge. He’d felt comfortable enough with my new agreeable nature that the cars were back on our property again. I had presented nothing but the most obedient of temperaments to him, talking of our new home in Chicago, asking how many rooms it had, if I could hire a decorator. He thought I was his old Daisy again, the one who did what was expected of her, the one who was careless and thoughtless in the face of others’ misfortunes.
Dawn broke and the light painted Jay’s mansion golden, but it stood silent and empty, its master now gone for good, and for a moment it seemed to be rebuking me, mutely asking why I’d not visited earlier, why I hadn’t saved its owner. I wondered that, too.
Who would be the next Gatsby, the next man to conjure up a past at Oxford or some other elite school and make a fortune that allowed him to dazzle and charm and have his way with everyone?
As I walked the grounds, I remembered the better side of him, the eager, striving side that approached the world with an openness usually demonstrated only by naïfs. I loved that about him. I wouldn’t deny it.
Making my way back to my car, I saw a dark vehicle approach and a man get out, someone I recognized as a Delacorte associate.
With a breezy hello, I introduced myself, using my maiden name, and said I thought I knew him.
“It’s a shame, real shame what happened to Jay,” he said, shaking his head. “A good man. One of the best I ever knew.”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I was a friend. I’ll…I’ll miss him.” On that last word, my voice cracked, and I began to cry.
“There, there, Miss,” he said. He came over to me and handed me a handkerchief, while I continued to weep.
It was a genuine cry, and I realized it felt good to share this grief with someone, not just in private or in whispered conversations with Nick, because I knew Tom would take offense at any outpouring of sorrow for Jay Gatsby.
The man tried to comfort me, patting me on the back, saying “there, there” over and over.
Finally, I gathered my wits and sniffed, standing straight.
“So much was left hanging after his death,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, that’s right, Miss. That’s right. I was hoping to get some counsel myself, about a matter I’m supposed to take care of.”
I knew what he was talking about. The matter with Tom.
I paused. I knew I could just leave and say nothing. In those endless seconds, Tom’s life and death teetered.
“If Jay wanted something done, I would think he’d want it done. Even post mortem.”
I played the part of the fool, the empty-headed woman who leaves business matters to the men.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said after some hesitation. “You’re probably right.”
After a few more moments of empty small talk, we parted ways.
After hurrying home, I found the house to be a jumble of activity, movers lifting and carrying out furniture, servants packing, little Pammy running to and fro with Nanny at her heels. I secured her suitcase and my own, filled with dresses and outfits and makeup and perfume. And money, too. One should always have abundant cash on hand.
I smiled and frowned at all the right moments, playing my role as attentive wife and mother, all the while hurrying as fast as I could, not wanting to be around if Mr. Delacorte’s associate decided to fulfill the contract then and there.
Things were a blur, and I was frazzled. It was warm, but the effervescence of the season had long since gone, and we all were stumbling into that season of farewells—fall.
Tom trod out to the car and hoisted a box into the back seat. Turning to me, he smiled and said, “Anything else?”
“Just a few things for the car,” I answered and handed him a hatbox and a small piece of luggage for overnight visits stuffed with things I didn’t need. It was such an awkward size and shape, it took him some time to secure it. “Stay here while I get them,” I said.
I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, feeling his stubble, remembering how his manliness used to thrill me, but he didn’t respond. He stayed busy tying down items.
One last glance, and I was off, flitting as fast as that fairy I’d imagined glowing in our dock light.
The house reverberated with a quiet hum of activity—thumps of furniture, clicks of doors, murmured voices.
I ran to the nursery. I gathered my two large suitcases, one in each hand, and I told Nanny that Pamela would be in my charge now. I’d thought of stowing our luggage on the boat earlier, but had been afraid some servant would find it, since we would be getting ready to sell the boat soon, and Tom might have instructed some worker to get it in tip-top shape. Quietly, I led my daughter down the back stairs and out to the lawn, where we walked as if it was all part of our moving plan, to the boat.
My nerves jangled with apprehension. I had planned this. I’d known this was my only chance, when movers filled the house, when Tom trusted me to help with directions, even keeping Pammy out of the way. I had to act fast before he wanted something from me or noticed I wasn’t to be found.
“Here, darling,” I said as we reached the dock. I lifted her onboard the Victoria Marie. “We’re going on a fun adventure. You love adventures, don’t you?”
She smiled and nodded, and I hoisted our bags onto the deck before jumping on myself.
“Go sit quietly and dream of where you’d like me to take you. A fairyland?”
“Oh, yes,” she said and clapped her hands.
I expected her to ask if Daddy would come, too. I even had a response ready—he might, at some point, sweetheart—to soothe her anxieties until we were safely away and I could deal with that problem later. But she didn’t ask, and it thrilled me that she was happy to be with me and me alone.
I pulled on a sailor’s cap, tugged on leather gloves, and told her again to sit quietly and not to move anywhere or the sea monsters would find her. I told her we’d be having a great old time and by day’s end, we would be in a magical new town with beautiful rooms and wonderful food.
Then, just as I had seen Jay do the day I’d watched him across the Sound without knowing who he was, I hoisted the sail before we were fully under way. But unlike him that day, I was prepared as the wind caught the sheets and puffed their breath of life into them, as the boat tilted and rushed forward. In a flash, I steered us to open water, feeling with every bouncing wave, every giggle from Pamela, a sense of freedom and youth and determination. Just as I had felt diving into the Sound. One, long, glorious exhale of liberation.
I tacked so that we caught every bit of wind, and we raced across the water as if I were in a competition. At last, I felt no fear.
I could see our house and the road as we glided away. Just before it faded from view, I caught sight of the black car of Mr. Delacorte’s associate creeping up to the gates.
I would never be anyone’s little fool again. I’d not be the golden girl. I’d not be the one treated like an object, or a goddess to be used.
My plan was to make port in Delaware or Maryland by day’s end, and then perhaps proceed into the Chesapeake Bay. As confident as I felt sailing, I knew I wasn’t up to a long ocean journey, so I hugged the south shore. That night, we would nestle into a sweet old inn, and then I would use some cash to buy train tickets west, somewhere far away, somewhere the sun shone for most of the year. But not before selling the boat, and pocketing that cash for the upcoming trip.
As the boat clipped over a large wave late that afternoon, Pammy giggled again, and in her face I saw a reflection of who I used to be—open to the world, confident of everyone’s love, and sure that no one would hurt me.
And then I sailed on, in a boat against the current, moving relentlessly toward the future.