Kurt did not get a call back from Aaron Puckerman. He spent the rest of the day working through Mrs. Wright's notes and preparing the application and cover letter for NYADA's Young Playwright contest. By the time he slid the finished manuscript into an envelope, it was dinnertime.

"Hey." He turned to see Michael standing at the foot of the staircase. "I heard about your director. That's terrible."

"Yes, well." Kurt gave him a smile. "He was an old man, and he lived a rich life. I'm finding out more about him every moment. It turns out he was Puck's great-uncle, on his mother's side."

Michael's jaw hung open. He laughed. "Really?"

"Really," Kurt agreed. "That's not even the most amazing thing I learned today. Oh…" He beckoned Michael to come closer, and as he did, he dropped his voice to a murmur. "Mrs. Wright told me to advise Finn to audition for NYADA."

"Whoa." He crossed his arms, taking this in. "I—I'm not really sure what to say about that."

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you before I said anything to Finn. You've gone through auditions for NYADA, and you've also performed with Finn. You have at least a sense of what he can do. I'm aware you'll have a hard time being entirely objective, but… do you think he has a chance of getting in?"

"God. I have no idea." Michael was pacing now. "I didn't even expect to get in, Kurt."

"I know it's a long shot. His grades aren't the best."

"Well, neither are mine. I don't think that matters so much. I'm just not sure Finn wants that kind of focus on the arts. It's a conservatory, right? No extracurriculars, no sports, no fraternities." He shrugged helplessly. "But… if you're asking me if I think he's good enough?"

"That's what I'm asking." Kurt touched his arm. "I won't tell him what you said, if you don't—"

"Hey, guys." They spun to face the stairs as Finn descended. He looked curious, but not suspicious. "Quinn and Scott are going to the movies. Kurt, you want to come?"

"No, thanks," he said. "You go ahead. Ask Quinn if she knows where Puck is."

"I'm pretty sure if any of us find out, we'll tell you." Michael followed him upstairs with an apologetic look to Kurt, but Kurt waved him on. Finn's acting talent wasn't the most pressing matter.

So much gossip, he texted Chris, you would not believe.

He didn't receive a response right away, not until after dinner was over and he was taking out the compost.

Given the choice between a secure place to live with a bunch of judgmental homophobes, said Chris, and crashing on the floor of a friend's apartment in New York City for a few weeks, which would you choose?

If I'd just been beaten, honestly, I would have to think it through. Kurt gazed from the yard through the window at Carole in the family room, leaning over to give his dad a kiss. Those aren't actually your only two options. I bet my parents would let you stay here.

I'd be crying if I hadn't already spent all day doing that, Kurt. Thank you. Now, bring it. What's the latest dirt?

I'm not even sure where to start. As he considered the ramifications of telling others about what he'd learned, his phone signaled an incoming call from an unknown number. The area code was Dayton. Talk later, he typed quickly, then picked up the call as he climbed the steps of the back deck. "Hello?"

"Is this Kurt?"

It wasn't Aaron. "Yes, that's me. Who's this?"

"It's Felix Abrams. We met at Usdan last week. I—Aaron received your call."

Kurt found himself smiling. "I'm pretty sure you're not his secretary."

"No, I'm helping him out this week. He and Bryce were close." Felix's voice was steady, but Kurt knew exactly how well a good actor could cover their real feelings with pacing and breathing.

"My understanding is that you and he were close, too."

"Um—" Felix laughed, sounding uncertain. "I'm not sure what you—"

"I'm looking for Noah," he interrupted. "Have you also been told not to tell me where he is?"

There was a long pause. "I haven't been told that directly, no, but… maybe the two of us should have a talk. Just to make sure we're all on the same page."

He closed the door behind him. "My schedule is wide open."

"Well… I'll be at the opera house tomorrow, doing some maintenance. I could use a hand?"

"I would be happy to help," Kurt said. They settled the details quickly, and Felix hung up before he could ask any more questions.

You're not going to leave me hanging? Chris's last text demanded. Gossip?

He sighed. Bad form, I know, but now that I think about it, I'm not sure how much of it is my story to tell. Can I err on the side of caution and just say you'll find out everything soon?

You're just punishing me for being in a medically-induced coma for six days.

Kurt snorted. Yeah, you caught me.

"Dad," he said, "I'm going to bed, but tomorrow I'm going to head down to Dayton to talk with—um." Noah's dad's boyfriend was only slightly less complicated than the truth, but he wasn't sure if it was accurate. "One of the actors at the opera house."

Sitting on his bed, Kurt picked up the copy of Shakespeare's sonnets he'd had with him at Usdan, the one he'd given to Noah to choose a poem for him to read aloud on his birthday. He flipped to a random selection, read it over, and had to close his eyes and shake his head for a moment before dialing Noah's number.

It went immediately to voicemail, which told Kurt Noah wasn't even checking it, but he'd expected that.

"I feel like I'm a detective, tracking you down one person at a time," he said to the phone. "Today I talked with Mrs. Wright and your mom. Tomorrow it's Felix. Maybe one of these days I'll figure out why you're avoiding me… or maybe I'll just have to wonder." He sighed. "It could be because I'm a selfish, judgmental jerk. Regardless, I have to assume you won't mind if I continue to read to you at night, since talking is the only thing I can do. So…" He checked the page. "Here's Sonnet 75."

He cleared his throat, then began:

"So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had, or must from you be took."

He wiped his eyes, imagining Noah doing whatever ordinary things he did at night, with whoever was there, and feeling more jealous of them than anyone he knew. His voice wobbled on the last couplet.

"Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day… or gluttoning on all, or all away." He closed the book and set it by the bed. "Good night, Noah. I'll call you tomorrow."

Kurt went to the freight delivery door of the opera house, as Felix had instructed, and found it propped open with a stick. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, then called into the darkness, "Hello?"

A door opened to the sound of familiar music, and a light switched on at the end of the hallway. "Down here, Kurt."

He made his way past several closed doors along the narrow, carpeted passageway with a sense of bemusement. Felix was holding the door open for him, wearing safety goggles perched on his head and covered in sweat. The music was now loud enough to confirm Kurt's guess about what it was.

"Good Lovin'," he said, as Felix looked at him questioningly. "The song. The Big Chill is my dad's favorite movie."

Felix laughed. It was a big, friendly sound, quite at odds with the tentative voice he'd used yesterday with Kurt on the phone. "Your dad has good taste. It was in the CD player."

The room was enormous, not a stage, but tall enough to be one. The floor was covered with sawdust, and on one end was a long workbench, outfitted with several table saws of various sizes. Propped against the opposite wall were dozens and dozens of wooden flats to be painted and repurposed in building sets, stretching to the ceiling. A platform stood mid-construction in the center.

Felix took off his goggles and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I was just taking apart the set from Iolanthe. The run finished last week. Thank god nothing was slated to begin production this week. We're postponing auditions for the next two shows until we have a better idea of the schedule for Bryce's memorial."

Kurt nodded understanding. "I'm not sure how life can go on as normal when a family member dies."

"Yeah." Felix drummed his fingers on the workbench. "If you don't mind, we'll get right to work. It's easier if I have too many things to do to think too hard about it."

They exited via a staircase adjacent to a massive freight elevator. Felix pointed up as they went down.

"That lifts the finished set pieces up to the stage. It's quite a production, but we're lucky this building contains enough space to both build and present each show, or else we'd be trucking the pieces over from a warehouse."

Kurt gazed up into the three-story elevator shaft with fascination.

"I've always wanted to see the costume shop here," he admitted.

"That is absolutely above my pay grade. The costumers are very protective of their workspaces. But I will keep it in mind, the next time you come down."

He grimaced. "If Noah ever speaks to me again."

Felix shook his head, smiling kindly. "I guess it could look like that from the outside, but… you have to trust me when I say that's not what's happening here."

Kurt tucked that cryptic remark away for future reference. As Felix unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs, Kurt followed him through a dark stretch of hallway and into the prop storage room.

It was a lot less cluttered than it had been when he'd last visited with Noah, Finn, and Michael during the showing of La Boheme. He watched Felix indicate three stacks of boxes.

"These, these, and these are going upstairs to the dumpster. Then we can take that stack upstairs for cataloging. With any luck, if we can finish clearing this space before the end of the month, the fire marshal won't cite us as a hazard."

The boxes weren't terribly heavy, but after two flights up and down three times, Kurt was grateful for the bottle of water Felix put into his hand.

"So how was it traveling to New York with Aaron and Sarah?"

"It was an adventure," Felix said. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "I haven't seen either Noah or Sarah in years."

"I think Aaron and Noah are a lot alike," Kurt said.

Felix nodded thoughtfully. "That may be true." He took a drink of his water. "Most of my memories of Noah are as a child. But he's definitely not that anymore."

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat, willing himself not to cry. "No."

Felix retrieved the CD player from the workshop, and they took the remaining boxes of props down the hall to another room filled to the ceiling with labeled shelves and cubicles. Felix showed him the antiquated cataloging system, grinning at Kurt's raised eyebrow.

"Trust me, I agree, but the person who handles all this stuff has been doing it for over thirty years. They're not about to ditch their index cards."

After Kurt filled out one card accurately, Felix handed him a pen and let him do it himself. Parrot, 4" length, he wrote carefully, noting the color, materials, and copying the care instructions regarding taxidermy props from the attached document.

The music provided pleasant background music, until "Natural Woman" came on, and Kurt had to sing along, blinking away tears:

When my soul was in the lost and found
You came along to claim it
I didn't know just what was wrong with me
'Til your kiss helped me name it

Now I'm no longer doubtful, of what I'm living for
And if I make you happy I don't need to do more…

"You have quite a range," Felix said when the song was over.

"My dad swears I sound like Ronnie Spector." At Felix's blank look, Kurt obliged by singing the chorus to "Be My Baby," at which point Felix laughed, nodding.

"He's not wrong."

Kurt sighed. "It's a blessing and a curse. I mean, you're talking to the guy who was cast as Juliet, right? And that was with the choice of casting me as Algernon. I out-gayed Oscar Wilde."

"It is definitely a challenge to be noticed, both for your presence and your absence," said Felix. He tapped his pen on the table. "You don't really have a choice to be who you are. I'm thinking Bryce had to be grateful to take advantage of that. That's speaking from the point of view of an actor who's really no one special."

Kurt regarded him pointedly. "And, perhaps, as someone who's loved someone who was?"

"Someone who was, and is no longer? Yes."

He took a moment to puzzle this out before responding. "Even if you've moved on?"

"Sometimes people have to, even if they love each other. It's okay."

It definitely sounded like he was justifying this to himself. Kurt kept his eyes on his prop. "Do you still love Aaron?"

"Yeah," Felix said. His voice was so tender, it made Kurt start crying again. "I love Noah, too."

He sniffed. "I'm pretty sure Ruth still loves you, too. Even if she moved on."

"Ruth?" Felix said, sounding bewildered. "How—?"

"She told me about her father's investment in the opera house, and Bryce's with Usdan." He glanced over at Felix, who looked somewhat distressed for the first time. "She told me about the four of you."

"Shit," he muttered. He set the note card and prop down carefully before getting up to pace.

"Was it worth it?"

"What do you mean?"

Kurt thought about what Noah had told him about his father, and what Aaron had said about Felix, and what Ruth had said yesterday about being with all of them. "I mean… taking the chance on something so unusual, and then leaving, for something more ordinary."

Felix continued to walk the length of the prop closet, back and forth between the tall shelves. When he turned to face Kurt, he looked a little more calm, but no less perplexed.

"I don't know," he said. "If you'd have asked me at the moment I made the decision to leave him, I would have said yes, absolutely. And now…" He shook his head. "I'm still wondering."

Kurt stood up, leaving his props where they were. Felix was much taller than he was, but Kurt still felt like he had the advantage. He pressed it.

"Until this summer, Noah had no idea you and Aaron were involved. He still doesn't know anything about Tanisha or his mother. Noah has spent his whole life thinking his dad abandoned his family."

Felix's dark eyebrows drew down. He shook his head insistently. "No, that—that's not how it was."

"I know. I'm saying he doesn't." He took a step forward, then another. He could hear Bryce in his head, telling him pace yourself, maintain the tension. "You know, Noah told me his father missed the plans they'd made for his thirteenth birthday. That was the summer of 2007. Four years ago."

He watched Felix's face as he calculated the time.

"But I know that Aaron's memory is a lot like Noah's," Kurt went on. "And I had to think: if his memory is that good, how could Aaron have forgotten Noah's birthday? So I have to think it must have been something else."

Felix was already nodding. "July 2007, Jacob was five. I remember. He had to have his tonsils out. I was in the middle of a production of Love's Labour's Lost. Tanisha had nobody else to go with her to the hospital. Aaron was a wreck." His eyes were far away. "He chose to stay with Jacob, because he figured Ruth would be with Noah."

Kurt finished cataloging the props in his box while Felix sat with that memory. He thought about Noah's furious disappointment when he told Kurt how his dad had let him down yet another time—without any awareness that he'd had another kid to think about.

"If it had been Sarah, he would have understood," Kurt said to himself. "But he didn't know who Jacob was, not really. He still thinks Aaron cheated with Tanisha."

"It's the poison of expectations."

Kurt looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

Felix slowly took his seat. "It feeds most conflict. The consequence of deviation from the norm is… death. Societal, emotional, spiritual. If you feed that expectation, you must conform, or risk everything of consequence."

"You're talking about theater," Kurt said. He felt suddenly nervous. "Right?"

"It depends on what you value. Whose expectations are you attempting to fulfill? Your audience, or your friends? Your family? Your community?" Felix gave him a tired smile. "I remember Aaron and I talked about this, long ago. He said, if they knew the truth, I would be transformed in their eyes. And I said…"

Kurt waited as long as he could before prompting, "What?"

"I said, If that happens, it's not because they know you're gay, it just means you're not a good enough actor."

Kurt stopped his laugh between two tight lips. Felix chuckled.

"I bet he did not like that at all," Kurt said.

He shook his head, still laughing. "He sure didn't. But I'd like to think it opened up possibilities for him that hadn't been available before that." His laughter resolved into a rueful sigh. "That was at a time when challenging anybody's expectations was a much harder prospect. But now…"

He shrugged, and smiled at Kurt. Kurt found himself smiling back.

"Maybe." Kurt thought about Chris, and added, "It's still a risk."

"It is," Felix agreed. "But a risk worth taking."

Kurt held up his last prop. "Should I go back downstairs to get another box?"

Felix stood up. "I think we're done here. Aaron said he would appreciate it if you'd stop by the house, if you still have time."

He got Aaron's address from Felix, just in case they got separated, but Kurt was able to follow him out of the city to the north suburbs, where they'd visited earlier that summer. Felix didn't ring the bell; he just took out his ring of keys and unlocked the door. Kurt went in with him.

"He had physical therapy this morning, so he might be resting," Felix told him in a quiet voice. "It takes a lot out of him. I'll go check and see how he's doing. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen?"

Kurt walked slowly around the kitchen, looking at what was on display, and what was not. There were school photos of both Noah and Sarah taped to the fridge, although they were several years old. There was also a snapshot of another boy, slimmer and younger than Noah, with curly hair and a stunning smile, dressed in leotards and ballet slippers.

The only other picture on the wall was a large framed cast photo. Everyone was on an unfamiliar stage in what looked like medieval costume and makeup, smiling for the camera. Kurt looked closely at each face, but he didn't recognize any of the performers.

"That's the 1980 Broadway revival of Camelot," Aaron said, emerging from the hallway. He was leaning on a cane, moving with care. He paused beside Kurt and pointed at a man in the photo. "Noah's grandfather. His mother's father."

Kurt nodded. "Was that before he owned the theater on Long Island?"

If Aaron was startled by the question, he didn't show it. "Just before. That investment could easily have been a disaster, but they made enough money on the property in the first year to finance their first couple of shows, and after that they were able to build up enough savings to pay the costs of the next couple. After that, it was easy to take risks."

"Because they were safe. No matter what happened."

"That's right." Felix answered him, standing in the doorway beside the refrigerator. He was watching Aaron.

Aaron ignored him, continuing his deliberate walk past him to open the refrigerator and take out a pitcher of iced tea. Kurt thought the trembling in his hand was less than it had been in the past, but it was hard to be sure.

"Bryce always took risks," Kurt said. "Even before it was safe."

"I always admired him for that," Aaron said, nodding. "Some of us take the easy way out instead."

Felix snorted. "Easy is a relative term."

Without spilling a drop, Aaron poured a glass of iced tea. Their eyes met as he handed it to Kurt.

"I know you want to talk to Noah."

"I just wanted to make sure he knew about Bryce."

Aaron nodded again. "That's all?"

"Well… no. But that's all I felt like I had the right to expect from him. There was never an agreement what would happen after this summer. When his therapist…" He paused, glancing at Felix, but Aaron gestured for him to go on. "When Greg told him he should take time to work on himself, without dating anybody, he listened. And it helped. I could tell. I don't want to… to stand in the way of him getting what he needs."

"What if what he needs is you?" Felix asked softly. He was still looking at Aaron.

"What if he's seventeen and he has no idea what he really needs?" Aaron replied. He massaged his left hand, grimacing. "Goddamnit."

"I'll get your meds."

Felix disappeared down the hallway. Aaron glanced after him briefly, but then he turned back to Kurt.

"Kurt, both you and Noah are getting to the point where you're going to have to make some choices. Not about relationships, but about life. Noah might think he doesn't have many choices, but he does. I think, because of you, what you've done for him, he realizes he has more than he thought." He smiled. "In more ways than one. But now he's got to develop a way to make the system work for himself, to integrate into a framework he thought was going to be nothing but a barrier. He has to know he did that, so he can learn to trust himself." He watched Kurt, his expression intense. "Do you understand?"

"I think so." Kurt tried to remain strong in the face of Aaron's intense regard. It wasn't easy. "He doesn't want me to—to be his white knight. To save him."

"Yes." Aaron looked pleased. "I think there is no question about how Noah feels about you. In time, I think he will learn to accept it, to make it part of himself. He's always been an intuitive boy. Now he must learn to depend on a more reliable framework."

"Order. Tension. Design." Kurt smiled as Aaron's eyes lit with recognition, and together they recited the rest of George Seurat's principles: "Composition, balance, light, harmony."

"I noticed love was not included," Kurt added.

Aaron shrugged. "Perhaps it is implied."

He looked up as Felix appeared beside him, handing him a pill bottle. Felix stood waiting, not offering to help, as Aaron struggled to open it, but eventually he managed to get the cap off. He swallowed two with his iced tea.

"I should probably go." Kurt took a step away, feeling reluctant to leave. "Um… if you do talk to Noah, please tell him I'm sorry. And if he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me."

"Thanks for your help with the props," said Felix. "I hope we'll see you at the memorial service."

Kurt sat in the Navigator in Aaron's driveway and cried for a few minutes, feeling the weight of the world's expectations. They didn't feel like poison to him, but how could he be sure? He wasn't any older or wiser than Noah was.

Before starting the car, he called Chris.

"I am done chasing after this boy," he declared. "No matter what I might feel about him. It's time for me to move on."

"That's the spirit," said Chris. "You're learning to lie like a real actor."

It was a long two-day drive back to New York for the memorial, but Asher offered to drive with him. His dad had little more to say to him than "Remember to bring cash for tolls, and watch your speed through Pennsylvania, okay?"

Asher asked him to wait in the driveway. He didn't even wave as he walked out of the house, carrying his garment bag over his shoulder.

"Chris never came back to Michigan, did he?" he asked as they loaded his things into the car.

Kurt grimaced. "I don't think he's even technically out of the hospital yet. But I have no doubt he'll be there."

Chris had become less and less available to Kurt as the week went on. It may have been that all his energy had been absorbed by planning the memorial, but Kurt wondered how Chris was doing now that his future plans had been put on hold.

"What would you do next year, if you didn't get into any of your top five?" Kurt asked Asher as they drove. They had long since compared their desirable colleges. Asher was looking at west coast MFAs with a dance focus; Kurt wanted a New York musical theater conservatory program above all else.

"I think I would still attend one of them, even if they don't admit me to the program I want, and take all my gen eds, and apply again the following year. My grades are good. With a degree from Dalton, my counselor says I'll get in somewhere." He curled his bicep, making his considerable forearm muscles pop, and grinned. "Or I could go into modeling."

"You probably could," Kurt agreed. "And you'd be bored out of your mind."

"Yeah, but I'd make money. It would be a relief not to worry about that for a change." He looked sideways at Kurt. "I don't know. After spending a summer at Usdan, I'm considering New York as a possibility. Would you think it was weird if I changed one of my top five to Juilliard?"

"No! Why would that be weird? That would be fantastic." He smiled at Asher, who looked relieved. "I have more male friends now than I have had at any point in my life. I'd definitely consider that an accomplishment, and I'm pleased to count you among them."

"Thanks, Kurt. It's mutual. I guess meeting Bryce and having him pass away so suddenly, it made me think about my next steps a little differently."

Kurt nodded, thinking about what Aaron had said about Noah's need to integrate. "You're not the only one."

The memorial had been scheduled at a community theater in Suffolk County. Chris told Kurt that Bryce was a staunch agnostic ("He firmly didn't give a crap.") and therefore would not have appreciated any kind of religious service, but Kurt thought it was appropriate to have the celebration of his life at a theater.

When they arrived, the parking lot adjacent to the theater had filled up and the public parking across the street was nearly full.

"Do you think they're all here for Bryce?" Asher whispered as they waited at the crosswalk.

"I have no idea." He felt his heart stutter, and grabbed for Asher's arm. "Oh my god. That—that's Sutton Foster. And that's Lin-Manuel Miranda. And Angela Lansbury. I may faint."

"Come on, you diva." Asher looked entirely too calm as he supported Kurt on his way up the steps to the front door.

They took a program and smiled at the girl holding the door—and paused. Kurt squinted. "Chris?"

"I'm his twin sister Emily," she said, with the patience of someone who has clearly had this conversation before. "Chip is inside."

"Chip." Kurt raised an eyebrow. Asher had to drag him past her and through the second set of doors into the lobby. He proceeded to rubberneck the crowd, making squeaking noises as he spotted someone who couldn't possibly be anyone but Carol Burnett. "Did you hear what she called him? And is that Lea Salonga?"

"Kurt," Asher sighed. It was about as frustrated as Kurt had ever heard him, and he toned it down a little.

They spotted Chris at the next set of doors, wearing a smart tailored suit that was too purple to be navy. The bruises and stitches on his face looked terrible, but the swelling had gone down, and he mostly looked like himself. He accepted a very gentle hug from both of them.

"Family is up front." He gave Kurt a deliberate look, and Kurt glanced up the center aisle, catching a glimpse of Noah's bald head beside that of his mother and sister.

"Yeah," Kurt said. "I thought maybe you would find that out."

"I thought maybe you would have told me Bryce and Puck were related."

Asher's eyes flew open, and he gave Kurt an open-mouthed stare. "No way."

"You're blocking the door, gentlemen," said someone behind them with annoyance. Kurt hurriedly made way for—he let out another squeak.

"That was Brian Bedford," he hissed, tugging on Chris's sleeve. Chris gave him a tired smile.

"The guest list for this event looked like a freaking Sondheim benefit. He was on the list, too, by the way, though I hear his health is not the best. Come on, I have seats reserved stage right."

"We met your sister." Kurt bumped his right side and Chris winced. "Sorry. Do we get to call you Chip?"

"Not until you've attended one of my Elvis impersonation concerts." Chris smiled airily. "You think I'm kidding. I have an entire wall of trophies."

Anthony and Oliver were already in the row ahead of them. They offered regretful smiles as Kurt and Asher arrived. Chris remained standing.

Kurt gazed up at him. "I guess you must have a lot to take care of?"

Chris shrugged. "Actually, it hurts too much to sit down. Morphine, anybody? No? I'll go acquire my own fix. BRB."

Kurt looked over at Noah more than once, but although he did catch Sarah's eye and exchanged waves, Noah stared only at his lap. He was wearing his glasses. Several rows back, Aaron sat beside Felix and a woman who could only be Tanisha.

The house lights remained up, but eventually a spot appeared, trained on the microphone which stood center stage in front of the curtain. The conversation subsided to a quiet murmur, but it wasn't until a projector screen descended from the ceiling that people fell silent. A photo of a younger Bryce appeared on the screen, smiling at someone off-camera.

Bethany and Trinity came on from stage left at the same time Chris and Ian came on from the right. The auditorium, now more than half-full, applauded as they stood together, acknowledging the applause with grace. Chris took the microphone from its stand and handed it to Bethany.

"We are here to celebrate the life of Bryce Yitzchak Coleman," she said. "Each of you knew him, as a relative, an actor, a mentor, a director, or a friend. We hope you leave here today with a richer awareness of the lives he's touched and the difference he has made in the theater community." She passed the microphone to Ian.

"Bryce was born in 1932…"

Kurt listened with half an ear as he watched Noah, who wasn't looking at Ian either. When Ian mentioned, "…his brother, Owen, and his sister, Leah…" he saw Ruth take Sarah's hand. Sarah gazed at the stage in fascination. Ruth attempted to hand Noah a tissue, but he shook his head.

"Throughout the eighties, Bryce and his brother produced three shows a year in this theater," Trinity said.

Kurt blinked. He turned to the program, upon which Riverhead Community Theater, est. 1945 was written. This was Bryce's brother's theater?

"The theater was sold in 1989 to Kenneth Grant, who continues to maintain it for use by civic and children's theater programs," Trinity continued. "We are grateful for his kind donation of the space today."

There was a smattering of applause as Trinity acknowledged the owner, sitting in the front row with an elderly woman. He gave a friendly wave to the star-studded audience.

"Perhaps his most significant achievement was the series of youth productions Bryce directed at Usdan Summer Camp for the Arts," said Chris. "Not only did he donate his time, energy, and expertise to Usdan for nineteen summers, a total of thirty-eight productions, he established a foundation with the profits from his share of the sale of this theater to support low-income applicants. Hundreds of children were able to attend Usdan thanks to Bryce's generosity. Over the years, he helped over forty young graduates of the program make their start by providing them internships at theaters and production houses. Several of them are in the crowd today, and have gone on to successful careers in acting, scriptwriting, and directing." Chris gazed out at that spot in the theater he had shown Kurt, the one he said made everyone think he was speaking directly to them. "I am honored to be among the last of them."

The projector screen displayed cast photos from several of Bryce's camp productions, ending with Romeo & Juliet and Earnest. Kurt was so distracted by the close-up of himself and Noah gazing into one another's eyes that he missed the arrival of Noah himself on stage.

"Several individuals have asked to speak about Bryce's life this afternoon. Here to begin is Noah Puckerman, Usdan participant since 2006, and Bryce's great-nephew."

It was Anthony and Oliver's turn to make fish-mouthed expressions of surprise, but Noah seemed to have no trouble maintaining the warm, intimate stage presence Chris had initiated. He nodded at Chris in thanks as he took the microphone.

"Sondheim tells us there are only two worthwhile things to leave behind when you leave this world: children, and art." Noah smiled at the smattering of laughter that spread through the audience. "I was reminded of that this summer, not at Usdan, but in my own community's summer theater production of Sunday in the Park with George. Bryce began his career on the Broadway stage, but with small, deliberate steps, he moved into the relative anonymity of community theater, and then took a further step away from the industry, to work with children at a summer camp. Someone who didn't understand who he was or what he was doing might have accused him of living his life backward."

He moved downstage, out from behind the microphone stand, commanding the stage with no effort at all. Chris watched from the side, his expression uncommonly solemn.

"Bryce never managed to step out of the spotlight entirely, of course. He coached us, each year, never to read the reviews." He grinned. "We always did, though. Sorry, Bryce." The audience laughed again. "Ultimately, that was his goal: recognition, not only of the accomplishments of the kids who performed on the Usdan stage, but of the kids themselves. Bryce taught us what it meant to be seen for who we were. Not kids, pretending to be actors, but as actors. And because he said it was true, it was."

Noah offered a measured silence, and the audience ate it up like ice cream. When he spoke again, it was into absolute silence.

"I make a lot of mistakes." He gazed at the floor for a moment. Kurt thought he could see Noah's lip tremble before he went on. "I regret nearly all of them. But Bryce never got mad at me for any of them. It was like he was holding up my right, with every shameful act, to continue to be treated as a human being. It didn't matter to him that I was a little over the top. He wanted me to be that way. He accepted me for doing things other people thought were unacceptable. Not only accepted me, but valued me. I don't know if he realized how important that was, that I could count on him for that. I'd like to think he did know." He gave the audience a tight little smile. "Bryce, you gave the world a heck of a lot of art, but it's the children you influenced who will carry on your legacy."

He turned and passed the microphone to Bethany, then moved out of the spotlight to stand beside Chris, his face expressionless. Kurt looked over at Ruth, whose face was buried in Sarah's hair, and then at Aaron, who was openly weeping. Felix held tight to his hand on the armrest between them.

"I have no idea why they let him go first," Asher whispered to Kurt. "Nobody's going to top that."

It was true. Kurt sniffled and smiled through all of the rest of the thoughtful reminiscences, including one by Josh Gad, who told a very funny story about Bryce and Brighton Beach Memoirs and a bowl of cooked pasta, but Noah's words stayed with him long after the speeches were over and everyone was taking refreshments in the lobby.

Noah was unsurprisingly absent at the reception, but Felix came right up to Kurt and shook his hand.

"Kurt, this is Tanisha Roth," he said.

Tanisha took his hand in both of hers, smiling. "Aaron told me how moved he was by your portrayal of Juliet. I did that show with Bryce, too, years ago."

"Bryce once told us he didn't much care for Romeo & Juliet." Kurt looked at Aaron, who stood with his cane beside Felix. "Do you know anything about why?"

"What, you mean we need a reason not to like Romeo & Juliet?" Aaron scoffed. "Beyond the fact that it's full of death and glorifies all the worst of societal expectations from the 15th century?"

"Besides that," Kurt agreed.

"I believe it has something to do with an early director telling him he was "too tall" to play Romeo," said Tanisha. "Which was almost certainly code for "too gay," but that was the sixties for you."

"But this time, he did these two shows the way he wanted to." Felix touched her sleeve. "He did them on his terms. And, believe me, I've played Romeo, and if I can do it, Bryce was certainly not too tall." He flashed Kurt a smile. "Or too gay."

The statement gave Kurt strength to make it through the rest of the reception. Even Asher looked exhausted by the end.

"You're not driving home tonight, are you?" Anthony asked.

"Just as far as we can, and then we're going to find a motel."

"Chris is staying with Oliver's family right now. Maybe you guys would come stay there tonight, too?" Anthony glanced over at Chris, who was the center of a small crowd of hilarity; he had apparently taken enough painkillers to prompt the telling of some very amusing anecdotes. "I bet he would appreciate it."

Kurt watched Asher's face for any sign of reticence, but he just nodded. "If your parents wouldn't mind more people?"

"I think they're kind of surprised I have friends," Oliver said. "They wouldn't mind. We've got room."

It was a subdued gathering of Usdan graduates who ended up in Oliver's large and tastefully furnished home. Oliver's parents indeed did not seem to mind, and supplied sleeping bags and pizzas from Mario's before leaving them alone on the second floor.

"You should probably go to bed," Anthony told Chris.

"Bed is this recliner," Chris informed him. He gazed around the room in mock outrage. "How is it we are having a reunion party a week after camp and not one of us is initiating any kind of sex or drugs?"

"You're the only one with drugs," Bethany pointed out. "No, we're not asking you to share."

"I'm completely disappointed in all of you," he announced. "It's the end of an era."

There was a depressed silence.

"It's true," said Oliver. "I feel so sad for all the kids who will never get to do one of Bryce's productions."

"What is Usdan going to do without him, anyway?" Anthony wondered. "Who would ever do what he did, without being paid for it?"

"Never you fear, my pretties." Chris waved a hand from the recliner. "Things are afoot. Prepare to be astounded."

Less than a minute later, he was snoring. Oliver turned out the light as Kurt covered him with an afghan.

"You're going to convince him to initiate a police report against those men," Kurt said to Anthony. "Even if it seems impossible and nothing will come of it. He wants to; he just needs someone to hold his hand while he does it."

Anthony nodded, looking startled. "I—yeah. I can do that."

Anthony and Bethany went home, and Oliver said good night, leaving Kurt and Asher in their sleeping bags on the floor of the guest room, as Anthony snored in the recliner.

"You can sleep on the bed if you want," Kurt said.

"Nah. It's like being roommates again." Asher shifted to his side to face Kurt. "Really, the floor's about as comfortable as those camp beds were."

"My stepbrother is a pretty good roommate, but it's not quite the same thing. Thanks for coming out here with me."

Asher nodded. "Bryce taught me a lot about acting, but I think that being on stage this summer, as Jack Worthing, was a turning point for me. I'm not afraid anymore to put myself out there. Whatever happens next, I think I can handle it."

"Yeah," said Kurt with conviction. "I think you can, too." Now if only I were so certain about myself.

Kurt waited until he was pretty certain Asher was asleep to go out in the dark hallway and call Noah's voicemail.

"I saw you today," he said quietly. "On the stage at Bryce's memorial. Did you even know you were related to him? I couldn't tell if you were surprised by that news, as the rest of us were. I'm at Oliver's house. Tomorrow Asher and I will go back to Ohio, and you'll go… wherever you've been, I imagine." He exhaled. "You looked amazing, and you sounded… like another person. Like a grown man. I was so proud of you. I just wanted you to know."

He returned to the guest room, climbed back into his sleeping bag, and waited a long time before finally falling asleep.

(Author's note: Riverhead Theater is actually on Long Island, but I have no idea who performs there. -amy)