for the elevator. “Jesus, Ophelia. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it.”
“Still not your fault, Horatio,” I called after him.
I could say it to him, and I believed it. As for me, no such forgiveness. I blamed myself. I always would. I blamed myself for not believing the things Hamlet had told me. I blamed myself for deceiving Hamlet. I blamed myself for being so drunk in Gertrude’s office that I acted like a wild woman, which my brother misinterpreted, which led him to choose revenge. I blamed myself for inviting my father into my business. I blamed myself for my own cowardice at every turn. No matter what anyone would tell me, I knew I should have done something to stop the killing. I felt certain there was more I could have done.
After Horatio left, I grabbed the broken frame and shoved it in a drawer. I started taking the photos from all around the room and putting them away, but I knew it would do no good. Memories were everywhere. Memories were inescapable.
That afternoon, Horatio’s mother came in, appearing as weary as he had. When I told her I was fine and didn’t want to talk, she fluttered around, looking for ways to help. She started by checking my refrigerator to be sure I had food to eat, which I did, though I couldn’t bring myself to eat much. I listened to the freezer door slam. She moved on to the cabinets and then began picking up the remains of the frame. Her chestnut ponytail flopped from shoulder to shoulder as she searched for stray pieces of glass, and I realized how long it had been since another woman had been in the apartment. I wished my mom could be cleaning up instead.
When at last she was finished, she declared with a gentle smile, “We have a meeting with Reynaldo at four o’clock. Get dressed or shower or whatever you need to do. We’ll be by for you in an hour. Unless you want me to stay.”
I shook my head more vigorously than I should have. “What meeting?”
She cleared her throat. “Funeral plans.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“Don’t ask that of me,” I begged Horatio.
We were standing in the corner of the intimate conference room. Reynaldo had chosen it because our group was so small; however, my desire to discuss matters with Horatio in private made me wish we had been in the larger one.
“You have to come to Hamlet’s service,” he whispered.
“Why? Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to skip this one?”
“One funeral will be best for the nation,” chirped Reynaldo from across the room.
I spun around to face him. “I am not interested in what is good for the nation, and I am not interested in talking to you!” Everyone looked askance, as I would never have answered in such a fashion if my father had been there. But he wasn’t. Reynaldo’s face flushed and he started shuffling his papers. I turned back to Horatio, who was running his fingers through his hair. The gesture reminded me of Hamlet in his desperate moments. I had to steady myself against the wall.
“I need you with me, Ophelia. I haven’t asked anything of you through all of this, but I’m asking you now. Come with me.”
I winced. Helpful Horatio. Patient Horatio. Giving Horatio. He had been counselor and guide to me and to Hamlet; he had delivered me to safety and unwillingly delivered Hamlet to his certain death. How could I deny him? And yet that was precisely what I wanted to do.
He interrupted my internal battle with, “If one funeral will get you there, then make it one funeral. Besides, if they’re all together, your father will get his due, as will your brother. You know most people think your brother is the only one to blame for all of this, and if it’s separate, none of us can predict what might happen.”
“Ignorant sons of—” I began, but stopped myself when I realized Horatio’s parents could hear us.
Many citizens, despite evidence to the contrary, were choosing to believe that my brother alone had caused the deaths of the royal family. The thought of my brother’s funeral being interrupted by protesters finally convinced me. I nodded reluctantly, agreeing to yet another charade, because the only true friend I had left asked me. Reynaldo ran off to write a statement to be delivered at a press conference that afternoon.
After the meeting with Reynaldo had ended, Horatio’s parents insisted that I