“Ahh, well. Cricket. Polo. What does it matter? The park is empty now.” I pulled out of Tom’s grasp, held my arms out to my sides, and twirled around in the grass enough times I started to get dizzy.
Tom ran to catch up with me, grabbed me, and kissed me hard, openmouthed in that intense way he always did that made my face burn instantly hot. “You’re right,” he said, pulling back a little. “The park is empty. Whatever could we do here?” His dusky eyes caught the sunlight and practically seemed to sparkle with mischief.
“Tom.” I swatted his arm lightly. “You’re positively wicked.”
He pressed his body against my body, and I could feel every inch of his torso through the thin linen of his clothes. He had sinewy thighs, strong from riding, and when he pressed them against me now, I gasped a little. “Daisy,” he whispered my name, like it was sinful, and moved my hand to the waistband of his pants, pushing my fingers down.
“Tom, really.” I laughed and inched my hand up, resting it across the hard muscles of his stomach.
“You think I’m joking?” he whispered, catching the bottom of my earlobe gently with his tongue, then his teeth. “Look around, we’re the only ones here. And I can’t wait until we get back to the hotel.”
I looked around again, and he was right. Kapiolani Park was still empty, except for us. It was very early in the morning. Everyone else in Oahu was just waking up, eating breakfast, or heading to the beach. Tom moved my fingers back to his waistband.
Mother’s snow goose voice popped into my head. Daisy Fay! Behave like a lady! But then I heard Mrs. Buchanan, too, at the atelier. I felt a giggle of embarrassment rising in my throat at that thought; certainly she didn’t mean anything like this. But I felt that red-hot power all the same. I was Tom’s wife. I was no longer Daisy Fay of the Louisville, Kentucky, Fays. I was Daisy Buchanan, in the midst of an extended and lavish honeymoon in the South Seas. I could do as I pleased, when and where I pleased.
“Not here. Not so out in the open,” I whispered, feeling illicit, even though there was no one around to hear me but Tom.
I took his hand and ran across the grass pulling him behind me. And then behind the shade of a towering palm tree I was warm and breathless. Tom swooped down and kissed me hard on the mouth again. I pulled back a little, moved my hands to his waistband, tugged his pants down. I smiled at him. And then, I held his gaze as I fell to my knees in front of him.
“Daisy.” He closed his eyes and whispered my name, grasping a fistful of my hair in his hand. “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.”
Jordan July 1919
CHARLESTON
DADDY HAUNTED ME.
Back on the golf tour, I awoke in the middle of the night, and Daddy was my ghost. That image of his face came to me in my dreams, again and again and again. Not his gray face. Not that terrible dead gray face. No. That other face. The one I’d seen in my room the night before he died, when our eyes had met for one honest moment right after I’d told Daddy something I never should’ve said out loud. What was that face? Shame? Disappointment? Regret?
“Jordan.” Mary Margaret’s voice came for me through the darkness now. I heard her climb down from her bed and felt my mattress sink as she sat at the edge of mine. She reached her hand to my hair and smoothed it back a little, her fingers tracing a line behind my ear. “You were crying in your sleep, sweetie.”
I reached up to touch my face, and she was right, my cheeks were wet. “Oh, Ems. I’m so sorry. Did I wake you again?” It was the third night this week Daddy had come to me and driven me to tears loud enough to get Mary Margaret up too. I was officially the world’s most terrible roommate.
“It’s almost time to get up anyway,” Mary Margaret said. She lay down next to me, yawning, stretching out her legs. She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arm around my waist. “Almost,” she repeated, sleepily.
I’d only been back on the tour for two weeks, and the adjustment had been hard. I’d thought the routine would be good after losing Daddy. And, besides, I didn’t know what else to do with myself in Louisville after his funeral. Daddy’s older sister, Aunt Sigourney, had come to town and would handle all the remaining details of selling the house and wrapping up Daddy’s financial affairs. She insisted that Daddy wouldn’t want me to let the golf tour down, that I had to return to my life. I knew she was right. But still, being back here, it had felt day by day like an uphill battle. I was exhausted and breathlessly overwhelmed. Not playing very good golf at the moment either. Mr. Hennessey was coming to watch next week and choose who would get to compete in the California practice tournaments in August, our first in over a year. And only four of us would be chosen. If I wanted to be one of the four, I had to get my act together.