“Daddy hadn’t been well for so long,” Jordan was saying now, fiddling with her linen napkin in her lap. Then she turned, stared off at the ocean for a moment, and sighed. The wind blew, and I shivered. In front of me the water was bright blue but, I’d learned when I’d dipped my toes in yesterday, shockingly cold. It felt impossible it was the very same Pacific we’d waded through in Tahiti. “Of course that doesn’t make things any easier, does it?” Jordan was saying now. “He’s gone now forever. And it’s really hard, Daise.”
I reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Jordie. It is hard. I know.”
“I know you do.” She offered me a half smile, squeezed my hand. She cleared her throat. “Let’s talk about happier things, all right? Tell me, Daise. How’s married life? Divine? Your cheeks are so pink you’re positively glowing.”
I reached my hand up to touch my face and wondered if my cheeks really were glowing or still had residual sunburn from Hawaii. “It’s so blissful, Jordie. I wake up in the morning and wonder if I’m in a dream. I’m not in a dream, am I?” I held out my arm. “Pinch me.” Jordan obliged and reached across the table and pinched the flesh on my forearm. “Ow!” I exclaimed.
“Nope, not dreaming,” she clucked, amused.
I rubbed my arm a little and reached across the table to swat her hand lightly, but I was happy to see her smiling again. Everything was different now than it once was when we were girls in Louisville, but no matter, she was still the same old Jordie and I was still the same old Daisy. And when we were together, all felt right with the world again. I let out a happy sigh. “And what about you?” I asked her. “How’s the golf tour?” She smiled, and her own cheeks brightened up.
“Well, I’ve been winning this week,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking. And only four of us girls were chosen to come out and compete in this practice tournament and I was one of them.”
“That’s marvelous,” I said, having no idea what went into being chosen, and not really interested in those details either. All that really mattered was that she was here, sitting across from me. I didn’t care about how she’d gotten here. How many balls she’d gotten in the holes or whatever it was she did exactly playing golf. “So then you’re happy on the tour?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said rather brusquely. “I mean, I suppose I am? My roommate, Mary Margaret, is a doll. You’d love her, Daise. I really wanted her to get picked for this tournament, too, so you could meet her. But…” She frowned. “That didn’t happen.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve made a friend.” My words came out terser than I’d meant them to, and I felt a little pinch of jealousy in my chest. I was glad Jordan had a friend, of course. I wanted her to be happy. But we had always been best friends, and I didn’t relish the idea of this Mary Margaret taking my place. “But clearly, she’s not nearly as talented as you.”
“Oh, stop, Daise.” Jordan waved away my compliment.
“Well, I’m certain it’s true,” I said. “Jordan Baker, you are the most talented girl on that tour.”
Jordan blushed. “The truth is, it’s all so political. There’s another girl, Jerralyn, who’s from Santa Barbara, and she practically demanded that they take her, even though Mary Margaret scored better in our round robin. But Jerralyn’s daddy’s business sponsors this tournament.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “It’s really not fair to Mary Margaret.” She sounded so pouty now, and I felt this untoward jealousy boiling up inside of me. It wasn’t that I wanted Jordan to be lonely; I just didn’t want her to have a friend she liked better than me.
“Well, political or not,” I said, “they chose you, because your talent is just that overwhelming, Jordie. I’m proud of you and I know your daddy would be proud too.”
“Thanks, Daise,” she said, with a half smile.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught the waiter staring at us, and I waved him over.
“What can I get for you, Mrs. Buchanan?” he asked. I still loved the way that sounded. Mrs. Buchanan. Crisp and delicious and erupting with power.
“Bring us one of everything,” I said casually, handing him back the menu I’d barely glanced at.
“Certainly, Mrs. Buchanan.” He took our menus and walked away.