In the summer of 1927, Daisy Buchanan sits in the parlor of her new manor house.  A cool breeze drifts through the open French windows.  Daisy traces the opulent strand of pearls which encircles her neck, a replacement Tom had given to her for the one which she had shattered on their wedding night.

Tom had tried, truly tried, to take better care of her as he had promised, showing her a gentleness and sweetness as he had early in their marriage.  But eventually his mind wandered from Daisy, and soon he had himself a new mistress who rang at dinner time just as those past had.  Daisy sighs.  She is accustomed to his adulterous behavior. It’s been a long time since she let it surprise or hurt her.  Daisy looks out across the well-manicured lawn, lost in thought.

Tom had purchased this house five years ago, in hopes that by placing distance between their family and the location of that scandalous summer of 1922, he could distance them all from the tumultuous events which occurred then.  That was how he explained it to Daisy, at least, although she knew what he meant, of course, was to get her as far away from Gatsby as he could.

Gatsby.  The thought sends chills down her spine; she hasn’t spoken his name aloud since his death.  The memories, though she tries to ignore them, come pouring forth, and she succumbs to reminiscence.

The cool breeze through the parlor reminds her of that cool evening on the porch of her mother’s house, the first time Jay kissed her, the beginning of it all.  She remembers wishing, as a naive girl, that she could live out all her days beside this singularly amazing man.  Daisy wishes fervently that she could return to that naïve, simple love. But then Gatsby left for war, and Daisy was bereft of her lover, lonely and afraid.  And when Tom Buchanan entered her life, with his physical prowess and fabulous wealth, the feelings of safety, comfort, and adoration which she had been so lacking since the departure of Gatsby returned.  Who could blame her, Daisy wonders aloud, for allowing herself to fall into his arms?

Jay did, she knew.  When he suddenly reentered her life, five years into her marriage with Tom, he demanded that she renounce her love for Tom, and abandon Tom as well as their daughter, all so that she could be his.  Daisy remembers the sweltering heat in the parlor of the Plaza Hotel, when Gatsby revealed their love affair to Tom, and the heat in the room was nothing compared to the heat of the tension between the two men in front of her, battling for her affection.  The memories sting and she begins to cry.  How could she have left her life of stability behind?  She loved Jay, but the past couldn’t be undone.  She wishes that it didn’t have to be that way, but it was, and there was nothing she, Daisy, could do about it.

A week after their sudden move from East Egg, there was a telephone call from Jordan, wanting to discuss Gatsby’s death.  This was the first she heard of it; after the move, she neither spoke to old friends nor read the papers, for Tom kept her fairly isolated from the outside world.  Daisy remembers how the news of his death shook her to her core.  She had locked herself in her room for almost a week, refusing to see anyone, not Tom, not even her daughter.  There were tears, regret, and guilt running rampant, but when Daisy emerged from her mourning process, she had moved on.

Through it all, she loved Jay.  She wanted, more than anything, to be with him.  Yet, Daisy thinks, if she was made to go back and choose between Tom and Jay again, she knows she would have to choose Tom, every time.  It was the responsible decision, Daisy reassures herself.  Had she run away with him, she would be ostracized, her family scandalized, and both Tom and her lovely daughter would become the scorn of the public. In fact, it was hardly ever a decision.  She never had a choice, Daisy realizes.  Jay, for all his fabulous wealth, for all his hopes for the two of them, could never offer her the society and class respect which Tom offered her, and that, Daisy concludes, was the bottom line of that.

Daisy shakes herself from her reverie.  The past is past.  It’s time to move on.