Why did I agree to this?  That was what Kurt was thinking as he sunk, hot and sweating, into one of the few remaining empty seats on the ferry.  He was hot because it was nearly 90 degrees outside, and he was sweating because after fighting traffic for seven hours of what should have been a five hour drive (but felt like twenty), he had run several blocks to catch the last Nantucket Ferry of the night out of Hyannis, Massachusetts. 

The whole insane series of events had started several months ago at Breadstix, an unremarkable chain restaurant serving ugly, bland food that was as authentically Italian as Chef Boyardee.  In Lima, Ohio, Breadstix was wildly popular, partially because most of the people in the town didnt know any better and partially because it was, sadly, the best restaurant around.  It was also close to the freeway, so motorists frequented it, each one making a mental note to never pass through Lima during mealtime again. 

Certainly Ed Rumsey, internet billionaire, was never planning a second trip to the towns tribute to mediocre cuisine. 

He was starving by the time he hit the outskirts of Lima as he was driving through Ohio, and when he saw the billboard advertising "Breadstix-Fine Italian Cuisine," he immediately began salivating for chicken pomodoro (which turned out to be not on the menu, and Ed got a confused look when he asked the server about it).  Instead, he ordered the chicken marsala, which was rubbery and prepared wrongly in so many ways, but he managed to choke it down anyway until he literally choked.  A piece of chicken caught in his windpipe, and, suddenly, he couldnt breathe at all.  After that, it was all a panicky haze, except he vaguely remembered a womans voice exclaiming, "Oh, my God, Burt!" and then arms wrapped around him and squeezed hard, and his ribs cracked a little, and then chicken was flying across the room and landing in some fake ferns. 

That was the beginning of the weird turn of events that had Kurt taking a train to New Jersey to get his Navigator out of storage, fighting traffic across New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut, poking along in traffic going slowly for no apparent reason in Rhode Island and Massachusetts, and finally, finally boarding a ferry to Nantucket.  Delaware might have been in there somewhere, too.  Kurt honestly couldnt remember. 

You see, the billionaire was grateful to the nurse who saved him from choking, and that nurse was Kurts stepmother, Carole.  When Carole adamantly refused any payment for "doing what anyone would do," Ed insisted that she take something.  A few weeks later Burt and Carole received a letter from Eds office.  Enclosed were two first-class plane tickets to Nantucket and instructions for them to spend two weeks in the summer enjoying Eds house there that was "nothing special."  Ed also enjoined them to "bring along anyone they wanted," so Burt and Carole had invited Kurt and his friends to drive over to join them. 

Kurts friends had wisely declined, but Kurt wasnt that smart. 

Kurt had never given Nantucket much thought before now.  It certainly wasnt on his bucket list of places to see.  It was one of those resort islands, along with Cape Cod and Marthas Vineyard, where rich New England people go to summer--the people so rich that they dont even give off an air of wealth, because they have absolutely no one to impress.  To Kurt, it sounded a little boring, and, at first, he begged off, the same as his friends.  Then he had an especially bad semester at NYADA that was so much work, and where he couldnt land any parts except the funny friend, and if the stress of that wasnt bad enough, he came home one night to find his boyfriend, Adam, in bed with another guy, which was appalling in and of itself, but it was made more so by the fact that Adam didnt live there.  Sure, he was over all the time and he had a key, but couldnt he conduct his illicit affairs in his own bed?  After throwing them both out of the house, and tossing the sheets in the dumpster, Kurt felt so betrayed and exhausted that when Carole skyped to ask one more time if Kurt was sure he didnt want to come, suddenly, getting away for two weeks sounded like an excellent idea. 

So here he was. 

And if he were honest with himself, he was kind of looking forward to a nice, boring two-week vacation.  First, he would see Burt and Carole, whom he saw all too infrequently since he left for college in New York City four years ago.  Second, he could use the quiet time to work on his screenplay, which would probably go nowhere but was his secret passion.  Third, maybe he could use the time to clear Adam, his boyfriend--now ex-boyfriend--out of his system.  Fourth, he could use the time to mentally prepare for his final semester push at NYADA before graduating. 

Kurt spent the time on the ferry checking his email, texting friends, and making notes about the next act for his play.  By the time he was through, the hour-long ferry ride was over, and Kurt joined the throngs to disembark.  As the crowd moved forward, Kurt caught a quick glimpse of the back of a head of dark curly hair and a bright red polo shirt.  The short sighting was enough to trigger a flood of memories long buried.  Kurt strained to get a better look at the man, but then the crowd surged, and his view was obstructed.  When he finally got off the ferry, the man was nowhere in sight.