“Is she okay?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Yeah. I think
she
might think she’s more than okay. She’s, um… she’s engaged… to your uncle.”
He was silent for a moment. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” I assured him.
“What the hell?” he screamed. He didn’t say anything else. He just started throwing things, including his phone, which is when we lost contact.
After wrecking the room, Horatio was able to get Hamlet to agree to go for a walk down by the river, which would be more private and where he would have fewer objects to throw. That’s where Horatio called me from, and eventually Hamlet got on the phone.
“Hamlet?” I asked.
Without taking a breath, he continued with what he had been saying to Horatio. “Are you kidding me? Not even a month. The shoes she walked in behind my father’s casket aren’t even worn in. Did she want to save money by using the leftover food from the funeral? Maybe the flowers are still alive, so she figured she could save on centerpieces, too. Goddamn it! My uncle? Were they sleeping together while my father was still alive?” He paused as if waiting for an answer, but I had none. “I can’t even…
argh
! It’s too disgusting to even consider.”
I didn’t say a word, though I agreed with everything he said.
“Any animal would have mourned longer. Marrying my uncle? He’s no more like my father than I am like… like Superman. What could she see in him?”
I sat down to continue listening to him rant.
“My father treated her so well! I swear he would punish the wind for blowing too hard on her face. She hung on his every glance, every word. Was it all just an act? I don’t understand. She can’t love my uncle like she loved my father. That’s not possible, right, Ophelia?”
“Hamlet, I—”
“How soon after my father’s death did she hop into bed with my uncle? Or was it before? I can’t—I can’t—”
I heard Horatio say, “Give me the phone, Hamlet.” Hamlet’s voice faded, though I could still hear him shouting, and Horatio said to me, “I’ll call you back.”
I waited for about fifteen minutes before grabbing my keys. I decided to call my dad from the road. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. I’d driven for over an hour before Horatio called.
“Christ, Ophelia, I don’t know what to do. He just keeps shouting. His security detail blocked the area for now. They want to bring him back to the castle, but I think that’s the worst idea.”
“I agree. Don’t let them do that. Tell Hamlet I’ll be there soon.”
I found them at the river. Hamlet and Horatio were sitting side by side, and Horatio had his arm around Hamlet’s shoulder. When I approached, they both looked up. Hamlet’s eyes were bloodshot, and dirt streaks ran down his cheeks.
Hamlet shook his head slowly. “How could she do this to my dad? My dad. God, I miss him.” He groaned and clutched his stomach.
I knelt down, a lump forming in my throat. “Me too.” I looked at Horatio, who stood and walked a few feet away.
“Why did you tell me about the—engagement? Why not my mother?”
“She thought you’d take it better if you heard it from me.”
He laughed, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ears. “She was afraid of what I would say.”
I nodded. “Probably. Listen, let’s go back to your room and talk, okay? Those guys must need a break,” I said, pointing to the two guards waving students away.
He agreed. Horatio joined us on our quiet walk back to their house. My shoulders were finally starting to relax when Hamlet asked me, “When did you know about all this?”
“This morning.”
“You never saw Claudius and my mom—” He interrupted himself and shuddered.
An icy wave of panic swept through me. My hesitation caused Hamlet to stop walking. Horatio’s mouth popped open and he shook his head subtly. I had to choose between telling the truth and keeping the hard-won calm. But I had never lied to Hamlet, and I didn’t want to start, especially when his mother could so easily expose my complicity.
“Last week I saw them kiss,” I said.
Horatio grimaced, and Hamlet’s face went slack. I reached for Hamlet’s arm, but he pulled out of my grip. A passing student held her camera phone to capture this tense moment, but a guard grabbed the phone out of her hands.
“You know the rules,” he barked as he smashed it under his boot.
I was watching the shards fly across the sidewalk when Hamlet walked away from me. “Hamlet, wait!” I shouted as he bolted into his fraternity house. I started to follow him, and Horatio followed me. I waved Horatio away. I didn’t want to be protected and I didn’t deserve to be.
I ran inside and upstairs. Hamlet’s room was locked. I pounded on the door, and to my surprise, he yanked it open and pulled me inside. After closing and locking the door behind us, he leaned heavily against it.
“You saw them kiss and you didn’t tell me?” he asked.
It occurred to me that he had never suspected anything was between them. He had never noticed anything odd. Not at the family dinners. Not in Claudius and Gertrude’s late-night chats. Not in the way Claudius looked at Hamlet’s mother when she was passing in the hall, like a snake taking its time before it ate a mouse. To go back that far right then would only add to Hamlet’s pain. I decided to take the fall and clarify later. So you know, I didn’t do it for Gertrude. I did it for him.
“She asked me not to,” I said as I perched on the edge of his bed.
He kicked the door with his heel. “Why, Ophelia? Why can’t you just do what you know is right?”
I sat up tall, trying not to show how much that question hurt me. “Because my having access to you depends on my pleasing
your
mom and
my
dad.”
He shook his head and looked at me, his eyes narrow. “How do you figure? You honestly think I would let them keep you away from me? Not possible.” He came and sat next to me, his voice urgent. “No matter where they would send you, I’d find you and we’d be together.”
I started to cry from guilt and relief that he still felt that way even after I had kept such a big secret from him. Through my tears I said, “Maybe so, but you have freedoms I don’t have.”
He wiped my face gently. “True. But I have a lot of limitations, too. Look at what just happened. I can’t even freak out without it being a major security concern. You’ve just got to stop worrying about them.”
“Papa Don’t Preach” blared, and Hamlet jerked my phone out of my hands. “Polonius,” he barked, “this isn’t a good time.” He snapped the phone shut. “Boundaries. See? Not hard.”
“Give it back,” I commanded, my palm thrust forward.
“Not if you’re going to call your dad.”
“I’m not. I want to call your mom so she and I can plan a slumber party,” I said sarcastically. Then I leveled my gaze at him. “Give me the phone. Now.”
He slapped it in my palm, but I shoved it in my pocket, deciding to deal with my dad later.
To be mean, but also because it needed to be discussed, I said, “I guess Claudius marrying your mom means you’re not going to be king for a while.”
“That’s not true. My mom said she would reign for now, but then after I graduated… Son of a—!” He leaped up and kicked the door.
There was a knock. “Everything okay in there?” a guard called out. Hamlet answered quickly, knowing that if he didn’t, they’d break down the door to be sure all was well.
Hamlet paced around muttering. “That jerk stole everything! I can’t believe my mother would promise me… unless she wanted Claudius to be king all along. Wait. No. She’s not like that. And she never lies.”
“Everyone lies, Hamlet.”
“Do you?”
I paused. “Not to you.”
He stood still, breathing hard. Then of all things, he asked, “Are you disappointed?”
“About?”
“Not being queen. If we, you know, stay together.”
“I don’t think about that,” I said, twisting my hair between my fingertips.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, I think about the glamorous part sometimes. The parties. Owning all that art. But seriously, you could walk away from Elsinore tomorrow with nothing—no title, no money—and I’d be happy as long as we were together.”
He curled his lips from a smile to a frown and then in between. “Really?”
I nodded.
He sat on the bed, leaning back on the headboard. “And what would you do if we had nothing? Or if we weren’t together? What else do you want in your life?” he asked.
I shrugged and laid my head on his chest.
“Still undecided?”
“Pretty much,” I admitted. It sounded so ridiculous that I came up with something on the spot. “Although… I’ve been thinking lately about being a museum curator.”
“Cool.”
The idea did sound cool. Being surrounded by art all day. Picking pieces for a collection. Deciding where to place them. “Yeah. I was thinking even of handling the collection at the palace.”
He cocked his head. “Don’t you want to get away?”
I shrugged. I really never let my mind wander far. I couldn’t separate visions of my future from a future that involved Hamlet. And I couldn’t imagine leaving my dad. My brother had chosen to go far away from our home, my father, and the empty hole left behind by our mother’s absence. But, as crazy as my dad made me, I couldn’t picture leaving him alone. Even if I moved out, which I would someday, I wanted to be close enough to check in on him. It was important to me, but I didn’t want Hamlet to comment, so I removed myself from his embrace.
I stood and crossed to the window. Horatio was sitting on the curb talking to the second security guard. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, and I knew I had to head home. I reluctantly said, “Sooo, back to the wedding.”
Hamlet snapped his tongue.
“Your mother wants you to come up—”
“I’m not going. I would rather eat glass than be a part of that.”
“Isn’t that a little overdramatic?”
“No, Ophelia, it’s not. Why don’t you try being a little
more
dramatic? Or critical of the things you see happening around you?”
I put my hands on my hips and said, “I am critical. I’m just smart enough to keep it to myself.”
Hamlet chuckled.
My irritation drained away. “So what should I tell your mother?” I asked.
“Tell her to go to hell.”
I whistled and smiled. “Yeah. I’ll get right on it.” And with that, I hugged him good-bye.
Horatio ran up to me as I came out the front door. “So?” he asked.
“He’s all yours. I wouldn’t bring up Mommie Dearest if I were you.”
He laughed and blew me a kiss as I was escorted to my car.
* * *
I didn’t hear from either of them until late that night. I tried to paint, but it was impossible for me to focus and I was really relieved when Horatio finally called to tell me that Hamlet had passed out in his own room. Horatio had taken him to a bar, where they drank excessively. As they stumbled home, Hamlet swore it would be the last time he had a drink. Incredibly, he stuck to his word and stayed sober through all but one night of the sordid events that were yet to come. Maybe if he had been drunk through the rest, it could have all been excused or dismissed. But how Hamlet changed was all his own doing, his own sober, crushed, depressed doing.
Barnardo:
“Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.” What does that text mean?
Ophelia:
It’s from an old eighties movie the boys and I loved. Jesus, for being “intelligence,” you seem not to know much.
Barnardo:
Watch it.
Francisco:
We think it was a code.
Ophelia:
Yeah, it was code for: “You’re not going to believe that the queen was (whispers too low to be heard).”
Barnardo:
Hey, hey. Have a little respect. You kiss your mother with that mouth?
Francisco:
’Course she doesn’t. She doesn’t have a mother, and all because of the royal family.
Ophelia:
I have to go to the bathroom.
Zara’s excitement returns. “It happened pretty fast. Don’t you agree?” She fans herself, asking the audience as much as Ophelia. The audience members look at one another, a mix of laughter and disapproval.
Ophelia is enjoying this moment. “Indeed it did.”
“What did you think of the whole… affair?” Zara winks.
Almost sincerely, Ophelia replies, “I’m not sure it’s my place or anyone else’s to judge.”
Zara turns to look at some photos of Gertrude in an elegant gown with Ophelia at her side. Both women are smiling and waving. “Despite our opinions of its speed, it must be said that the wedding was beautiful.”
“That it was,” Ophelia replies, eyeing the series of pictures that follow: the church, in front of the castle, inside the reception.
Zara flips her hair and furrows her brow. “Hamlet did not, as had been announced, act as Claudius’s best man.”
Ophelia squints and says, “Uh, nooo, he did not.”
“And yet you were a bridesmaid.”
“Well, Gertrude was like a mother to me. How could I refuse?”
Whenever I spoke with Horatio, I updated him on the latest development. They seemed to be coming so quickly that I found myself speaking to him a couple times a day. I should have known the castle phones were tapped. I sort of did. I mean, my father had always warned me to watch what I said on the apartment phone or in the public spaces of the castle, but it had never mattered in the past. I always figured that I had nothing to hide, which I usually didn’t.
Horatio asked, “Why is she making you a bridesmaid?”
“I’ve been thinking this over, and there are three possibilities. One, to keep me close. Two, because she thinks the pictures will look nicer with Hamlet and me in them together. Or three, she thinks he’s more likely to show if I’m part of the whole thing.”