“Aunt Mallory? It’s Blaine…” He says when the call is answered. “I’m in Columbus… Yeah, I just landed… No, I have a rental that won’t be necessary… Yeah, I have the blue suit… I know about 17B… I’ve got a map… I’m fine, really… I’ll meet you at Uncle Ian’s house.”

Blaine disconnects the call before he has to undergo what feels like the Spanish Inquisition. Tossing his cell phone aside, he puts the car into drive and exits the parking deck.

It feels like he’s been driving for hours, but that’s only because he is entirely too focused on the mission at hand. Not noticing the beautiful rural Ohio landscape as it whizzes by all around him, Blaine only pays attention to the interstate numbers as they come into view. He can feel his grasp on direction starting to slip. 50… 274A… 19C… The exit numbers appear to be in no particular order and it frustrates Blaine to no end. He drives for a few more miles never once seeing a sign for 17B.

He pulls onto this shoulder of the highway and flips out inside the rental car. “Did I miss 17B? DID I MISS 17B?!?” He screams this more than is necessary until his throat is raw. Blaine gets out of the car, craning his neck to check for any clue of where he is. He kicks the side of the car out of frustration and pulls out his cell phone; he punches the numbers harder than needed to make a call.

“Aunt Mallory! I just got cell service back. I ended up in Tiffin and now I have no idea where I am… I’m just gonna turn around and start over… It is beautiful here… Ok, I’ll meet you at the place… The parlor… Is it a parlor? It’s somebody’s house? Ok, yeah, see you in a couple hours.” Blaine shakes his head climbing back into his rent-a-car. “You can do this Anderson… You can do this.” He turns the ignition, hit the power button on the radio, and does a U-Turn in the middle of the two lane highway.

It doesn’t take Blaine a full two hours until he is driving into the “Main Strip” of Lima, Ohio. He is oddly revitalized after his time out on the open road. He takes in what is probably Lima’s “old town” that is eclectically dotted with newer, hipper business. An antiques shop next door to a corporate chain music store, a Mom and Pop bridal boutique next to a coffee shop called “The Lima Bean,” Blaine makes a promise to himself to visit the coffee shop before he leaves.

The old town commercial district finally gives way to a more residential setting. Houses that were probably constructed in the 1950’s sit dangerously close to one another on either side of the narrow two lane street. Lawn gnomes, porches with swings, and flags dot each house as he passes them. Blaine continues driving past the Lima Train Depot and Museum until he finally comes upon the Lima Memorial Funeral Home.

He sees a man waiting in the gravel parking lot looking impatient leaning on the front fender of a hatchback. Blaine is quite clearly, and quite famously late. He parks the rental car not far from where the man is standing and gets out. The man seems happy to see Blaine and rushes forward encompassing him in a hug that nearly causes Blaine to topple to the ground.

“Noah?”

Noah “Puck” Puckerman, Blaine’s second cousin through marriage. They were never close; in fact Blaine had only met the man two times previously, ironically enough at funerals.

“CUZ! How you doing man?” Puck replies releasing Blaine from the bear hug.

“I’m fine.”

Puck ushers him across the gravel parking lot and through the cemetery towards the funeral parlor. “Well, don’t worry about I thing. You’re staying with me while you’re in town. Now, you’re gonna meet a lot of people you don’t remember, but they’ll all know you. You met them when you were small. But don’t worry I won’t leave your side. Aunt Mallory is inside with Paul Karofsky, he was a good friend of your Dad’s. Old high school buddy or something.”

The climb a small hill coming into view of a tall woman in her late fifties, Aunt Mallory, and a bulldog of a man that Blaine can only assume is Paul Karofsky. Blaine feels Puck’s hand on his shoulder pushing him forward a little.

“Paul! Meet a grown up Blaine Anderson!”

“Hello,” Blaine says to the man meekly extending his right hand. Paul shakes it furiously, sizing Blaine up.

“And you remember Aunt Mallory,” Puck continues.

Mallory pulls Blaine into a hug. “Oh, hon, we’re all just so broken up about your daddy. He was a good man.”

“Thanks,” is all Blaine can manage to say. If only you knew how wrong you were. Blaine manages a weak smile trying to shake the nasty thoughts of his father’s unaccepting ways.

The unlikely group, sans Aunt Mallory, has moved away from the funeral home’s main building and is now standing on a green patch of grass farthest away from the funeral home.

“This is Thom’s plot. Been in your family nearly three-hundred years,” Paul says gesturing proudly. “I’ve done my best to keep it pristine for your daddy.”

Blaine runs his tongue along his front teeth, trying to come up with the best way to approach the subject. “Uh… Yeah, about that… Um… We’re still discussing that idea… My father will probably be cremated.”

Paul Karofsky visibly tenses at the word. A soft wind blows through the area. Paul’s clenching his fists as he speaks again. “Well, for now I guess the question is… Do you want an open or closed casket?”

Blaine shifts from one foot to another, knowing that now the big questions are going to be asked. “Closed,” he says.

“You’re sure.” Paul’s voice is tight.

“He was a very private man.” Blaine’s reply is airy.

He sees Paul and Puck share a look; there is obviously something Blaine is missing.

“Ok, so closed.” Paul’s voice has gotten tighter. “Your daddy’s belongings are in a box at your Aunt Mallory’s house. His Harvard class ring is in there. I assume you’ll want that on him.”

“Yes. He was very proud of Harvard.” The air is almost electric around them. Blaine is becoming less and less enthusiastic with the idea of dealing with these people and he now understands why his mother hates this place.

“I don’t know if it means much in Seattle, but Harvard is a big deal here.” Paul is almost mocking him at this point, implying that his father didn’t mean much to his own family.

Blaine sighs, closing his eyes trying to keep himself from punching his father’s oldest friend. “It matters a lot… Even though we now live in California!” Blaine’s resolve is slipping.

“We’ve already got him dressed in a very fine brown suit,” Paul offers ignoring Blaine’s last comment.

“I’ve brought the blue suit.”

“Well, you just take a look at him in the brown suit and decide later.”

Blaine can’t believe the gall of this man. He is starting to shake with anger and frustration as he speaks again. “We would prefer the blue.”

“Fine. Then it’ll be the blue. Or the brown.”

“Blue.”

Paul nods reluctantly. “And then will be closed… Or open casket?”

Blaine gives the man a withering look. Wasn’t this just decided? “Closed,” Blaine snaps.

There is a moment between Puck and Paul, looks are exchanged.

“I think Paul is trying to say,” Puck says delicately, “is that a lot of your old man’s friends would be pretty disappointed if they couldn’t see him again. They might be upset if the casket is closed at the viewing.”

Blaine’s head snaps up at the mention of a viewing. His eyes dart back and forth between the two men standing in front of him. “The viewing? What viewing?”

“The family’s all here, cuz.”

Paul steps forward a little. “They’ve been waiting since three o’clock,” Paul adds.

Blaine really hates this guy.

“There’s a dinner tonight. After the viewing,” Puck adds.

Blaine has had about all he can take. He’s definitely going to need a stiff drink later. Scotch. He makes a mental note to find the nearest bar after the viewing and the dinner are over. “Fine. Just… Fine. Whatever will make everyone happy. We’ll need to go over a schedule because I’ve got to go back in two days. So we’ll need to talk about flight arrangements for the ashes.” Blaine adds extra emphasis on the last two words to get his point across.

The other two men share a look. Blaine has just made them both very uncomfortable.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Blaine says sighing heavily.

Blaine, Puck, and Paul enter a small chapel filled with people. They are all dressed smartly and respectfully. Blaine can feel every eye in the chapel on him, sizing him up, looking for a chink in his armor. Paul presents Blaine grandly to the crowd.

“Everybody, this is Thom’s boy from California, of the California Andersons. This is Blaine. Now, he’s gonna spend a few minutes alone with his daddy and then we’ll a join him. Blaine, you’re related to just about every person in this room, and like your daddy we’re all very excited about your big advertising campaign that’s coming up soon.”

Blaine looks over the small sea of people gathered there. He can see familiar features in some of the faces.

Puck steps up behind him, whispering, “You might wanna say something heartfelt right about now.”

Blaine blanches at the thought, but steps forward clearing his throat a little. An odd adrenaline rushes through him as he opens his mouth to speak. “Thank you all for being here today. I’m so very sorry I’m late.” The crowd looks at him expectantly. Blaine doesn’t think he has anything else to say, but before his brain has time to register it, he is speaking again, blurting out: “I’m kind of nervous. I’ve never seen a dead body before.”

There are a few soft chuckles, a few people cough, a tremor of whispers, a shocked gasp or two. Blaine ducks his head in defeat before retreating into the viewing room.

Blaine is traumatized as he advances forward towards the casket. Puck falling in step beside him. The upper half of his father’s coffin is open. Paul Karofsky appears at Blaine’s other side as he peers down at his father’s lifeless body. It’s overwhelming to Blaine. A human body. His father’s body. It is an intensely intimate moment that Blaine wishes was somehow all a big mistake.

“Well, there he is.”

Blaine can’t bear another look into the casket so he takes a few steps back and turns to face Paul and Puck.

He nods briefly as the flood of mourners and well-wishers make their way into the viewing room. Blaine prays to whoever is listening that he can be anywhere else in this moment.

Blaine is standing the kitchen of Aunt Mallory’s house. It’s an explosion of human interaction. The small house is packed with flowers, friends, and food. An aura of intensity swirls around Blaine. A plate of scrapple and hash brown casserole is thrust into Blaine’s hands. He eyes the dish trying to hide a look of disgust that he can feel pricking at his facial muscles. He discretely passes the plate off to Puck, who has not once left his side during this ordeal.

Several different people talk to Blaine all at once. He looks around and sees a portrait of Midwestern culture, the likes of which is completely foreign to Blaine. A little girl of about six scurries through the front door and attaches herself to Puck’s leg. The little girl lets out a high-pitched wail until Puck picks her up. No one, but Blaine, seems to notice.

“Blaine, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Beth.”

Blaine holds out his hand to greet Beth only to be met with the girl flicking him off. Puck chuckles and coos at his daughter’s actions. Julia Anderson would have been mortified.

There is an unexpected ripple through the crowd. Murmurs about the man who is now standing in the foyer. Everything about this man screams con artist. He is untrustworthy, not entirely as brilliant as he thinks, and clearly arrogant. He is Jesse St. James. Jesse is not much older than Blaine from the looks of it.

Puck leans in whispering rather loudly, “That’s Jesse St. James. Son of the… Uh… Town bicycle, if you will. Believes that your dad was his father.”

Blaine cocks his head ever so slightly, trying to get a handle on this new piece of information.

“It’s all lies of course,” Puck adds rather quickly.

Had his father had an affair? Was this slime his half-brother? After a moment Blaine ignores those thoughts, there’s no way his father could have possibly done that to his mother. If nothing else, Blaine knew that his father’s adoration for Julia Kronig nee’ Anderson was unfaltering. To Thomas Anderson there wasn’t another woman on the planet who could hold a candle to her.

“I guess you all made a group decision not to invite Lima’s favorite bastard son to his own father’s memorial,” Jesse said voice dripping with disdain for this group of people. No one responds.

Jesse turns to the nearest stranger offering his hand to whoever will take it. He glides through the crowd introducing himself to anyone and everyone like a shady politician.

Blaine can’t take his eyes off the man; he feels the hatred bubbling in his chest. He wants to explode, he wants to throw him out of his aunt’s house, he wants all of this to be over, he wants Kurt by his side right now. Wait, what? It was the first time Blaine had thought of Kurt since arriving in Lima. Blaine was blind-sided by the thought.

He sees Jesse go over to Beth interrupting her as she shovels candy into her mouth. “Is that Beth? Why you’ve grown almost a whole foot since the last time I saw you!” Jesse opens his arms, “Give your old Uncle Jesse a hug!” Beth takes a couple of tentative steps forward, her face suddenly twists in agony. She throws up all over Jesse.

Blaine can’t help but laugh as he observes the emotional discord that swirls around Jesse as Blaine’s extended family start to get Jesse cleaned up and into clean clothes.

Hours later, long after the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, Blaine and Puck, with Beth in his arms, are walking down the street to Puck’s apartment. It’s a quiet summer night; Blaine takes in the extreme quiet of Lima. No children out playing and laughing, no crickets chirping, just all-encompassing silence. For the first time Blaine feels somewhat at peace.

“Beautiful night,” Blaine says shattering the peaceful silence.

“Yeah, this time of year it’s usually hotter than forty hells, but at least we got stars.”

Blaine’s eyes drift upwards, Puck was right; he can see almost every star in the sky. I far cry from the hazy smog-filled skies of Los Angeles.

“I’m sorry your mom couldn’t make the trip with you, man.”

Blaine shrugs. “She’s pretty broken up about it. She sends her love to everyone though.”

Puck nods, knowing the implication. “That’s the thing about this town. These people look for any little thing to get offended about and then they hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

Blaine can’t help but laugh.

“But you and your dad were close, right?” Puck’s tone is one of genuine curiosity.

“Oh very close. I knew my dad very, very well. We were actually planning… That is… We’re going to drive here… Together… This year… And then it became next year… And no, yeah, we were very close.”

Puck just nods accepting his cousin’s answer. It’s suddenly painfully obvious to Blaine that he just let slip that he didn’t know his at all.

They arrive at Puck’s apartment. It’s definitely a bachelor/single father pad. Empty beer cans litter the breakfast bar, toys strewn everywhere. Blaine does, however, notice a woman’s touch to the place. There are scented candles, pictures of Puck and a blonde woman looking happy, the laundry is folded and stacked neatly in a basket, there isn’t a dirty dish in sight. It’s got an odd homey college feel to it.

Blaine continues to look around the apartment when Puck returns from putting Beth to bed.

“Quinn should be home soon. I guess you must be pretty tired? I mean, we can play some Rock Band or something if you’re not.”

“No!” Blaine exclaims almost too adamantly, adding “No, I’m pretty wiped. It’s been a… Uh… Interesting day?”

Puck laughs, “I hear that, Cuz, well I’ll get you all set up in the guest room.”

Blaine follows him down the hallway; just past the open door where Beth is sleeping they enter the guest room/office/music room. Shelves of toys, books, pictures, and knick knacks share space with band equipment, broken boom boxes, computer parts and a lonely looking futon.

Blaine smiles wearily, “This will be perfect. I love it. I can sleep anywhere.”

Next door, Beth awakes fully letting out a sustained howl. Puck ignores it like any parent of a loud, obnoxious elementary school child would. Blaine takes a breath and nods politely, trying to imagine the next eight hours or so. Both men can hear the front door closing softly and a woman’s voice whispering, “Hello?” through the darkened apartment underscored by Beth’s incessant howling.

A pretty and petite blonde woman pokes her head into the room. “Hello boys!” She is polite and soft-spoken, but Blaine can see a fire behind her eyes that tells him she is not one to be taken lightly.

“Hey, Q.” Puck has gone soft at the sight of Quinn. He wraps his arms around the woman and gives Blaine a polite nod and a wink that says: You’re on your own now. Puck and Quinn disappear down the hall leaving Blaine alone in the guest room.

Blaine is trying his best to settle into the futon, the soft rasp of a tree branch against the window is doing its best to lull him to sleep. He is startled by an other-worldly sound from the next room over. The sound grows into a breathless whine. Blaine realizes its Quinn. It is soon joined by Puck’s own sounds of pleasure.

The wind outside picks up, the first few pellets of rain dancing on the window pane, the tree branch is scratching at the window relentlessly. A banshee’s wail erupts from the other side of the wall. It’s Beth, howling from the next room. She’s getting louder. For a few moments all the noises are syncopated.

Blaine props himself up on his elbow, leaning over to dig around into his discarded jeans pocket. He finds what he was looking for.

Cell phone.

He dials a three numbers and presses the phone to his ear. Balancing it on his shoulder he begins to get dressed. “Wingate by Wyndham Lima, Ohio please.”