into my neck. When his shoulders had stopped shaking, he lifted his head and wiped his face, which was streaked with red and white. He pushed his hair back and I reached up and touched his cheek. Hamlet looked so pitiful and alone, despite the hundreds who surrounded the grave.
“This will be over soon,” I whispered. He pushed his hair back again and looked around. When he saw the grave behind him, he shuddered. “What can I do?” I asked.
“Ride back with me,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd.
“I can’t. My dad—”
“I need you, Phee,” he pleaded.
I turned to ask my father, but he was talking to a visiting dignitary. “Ask your mother,” I said quietly.
“It’s not her decision.”
“Hamlet, she doesn’t like surprises. You have to tell her.”
Gertrude was shaking hands with a duke when Hamlet tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m going with Ophelia to the car. She’s riding with us.”
Gertrude’s face grew stony and, barely opening her lips, she replied, “I said it before. There is a plan in place. No.” Turning back to the duke, she continued her conversation.
“Then I’m going with her.”
“No.”
Frustrated by my inability to help Hamlet hurt less, and too full of emotion to control myself better, I stepped forward. “Let him do what he wants for once,” I said quietly. “This day is hard enough.”
She glared at me but said nothing. I took him by the hand and he pulled me toward the cars. Gertrude did not shout after us, but I knew she must have been furious.
The crowd was pulsing around us, milling and sharing greetings, gloomy faces fixed in place. They looked properly attired for mourning, but I got the feeling that much of their grief was just for show. Hamlet did not acknowledge them, keeping his eyes down as he walked.
“Hamlet. Ophelia,” called out a familiar voice. Horatio was chasing us. We stopped and waited for him to catch up. Soldiers were keeping the photographers out of the graveyard, but all around the perimeter their cameras poked through the gates. As we walked down the hill to the long line of black cars, the cameras turned to follow us. Hamlet put his head down as we approached, then got into the second car in line. I followed him in with Horatio right behind me.
As he closed the door, Horatio said, “I can’t stay long. My folks are waiting for me.” After a moment’s silence, he asked, “So, Hamlet, they figure out what happened to your father?”
Hamlet loosened his tie. “No. Doctors are thinking it was a heart attack, but he was healthy at last month’s exam, so it doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m surprised they buried him without an answer,” Horatio said.
Hamlet rubbed his eyes. “My mom insisted. Said the nation needed closure.”
Horatio and I both looked at Hamlet, who had dropped his head into his hands. I ran my fingers through the back of his hair and kissed his shoulder. Horatio looked at my face, then at Hamlet, then back to me.
We sat silently until Hamlet said, “I can feel you watching me. Just talk, you two. Please.”
“Uh… okay. Horatio, how long are you staying in town?” I asked, feeling a little stupid about engaging in small talk.
“A couple days. Class has been suspended until Monday.”
“Hamlet, are you going back with him?” I asked.
He shrugged and reached for a crystal carafe of Scotch.
“Hamlet,” admonished Horatio.
“What? Of all days, this is a day for drinking.” He held up the bottle and both of us refused. All I needed was for my father to smell alcohol on my breath.
Horatio grimaced. “Not too much, though, man. Okay? You have to stand and face people in a few.” Hamlet took one more swig, then put the stopper back in with a flourish.
The car door opened. My brother, seeing us all inside, stopped short. Hesitantly, he said, “Oh. Hey.”
“Hey, Laertes. I was just getting out,” Horatio answered, winking at me.
Laertes paused, expecting Hamlet to follow. When he didn’t, Laertes got in the seat across from me. “Dad’ll be here in a minute,” he hinted.
“It’s just a car ride,” I said.
“You know it’s not,” he replied. I kicked off my heels and thought about how stupid it was that where Hamlet rode was such a big deal. Hamlet took my hand in his and squeezed. Laertes watched us levelly and asked me, “So, did you see that bouquet of violets out there? Pretty delicate for this weather, don’t you think?”
I realized Laertes was referring to