A short one, purposely. Coming to Florida was a mistake, but Lance is a curious fellow and couldn't help himself. The languid days of summer are coming to an end in this story, folks. You'll get a fast forward in the second half of the next chapter.

RT, thanks for being so dedicated to reviewing! It means the world. Daisy, despite all of her flaws, definitely lavished Sweets with love, pet names, and praise (e.g. "We're both beautiful people, Lance, we're bound to get jealous sometimes.") I def think he needed that. You always do a good job of writing his parents' consistent attempts to show affection in THotF, so I suspect you picked up on this need too! I've never been to the circus myself. But I did watch "Her Alibi" a TON in 1989! :) A totally underrated movie.

That night in his hotel, Lance tossed and sweated in his cheap blankets. After initially feeling like a coward for fleeing at the sight of his mother, he was now beginning to accept that he needed to better prepare himself to do this thing that was incredibly difficult. Just seeing her again made him feel like he was transported back in time—he became the scared little unloved boy whose life was in constant danger. This was a stressful situation to the extreme, and Lance needed to use every ounce of his training to get through it.

He threw in the towel at trying to sleep by 5:30 am. Instead he got up, sat in the corner as the sun rose warmly over his body and meditated. He showered and put on a crisp, professional button down shirt, which made him feel more in control than his "civilian" attire of yesterday and then had breakfast at a local cafe. When the hour was more reasonable, he called Bea.

"Hello?" Her familiar voice asked.

"Bea, it's Sweets."

"Hi Sweets. How is sunny Florida?"

"Ok, I guess. How are you and Lulu doing? Are you staying safe?"

"Yeah, we're good, Sweets. We haven't gotten out much, but I've been reconfiguring your wireless network and swapping out all of your manly foods with vegan fare. You'll have a new identity waiting for you by the time you return."

"Great, thanks," Lance said with sarcasm. "I suppose you're making a complete mess of my tidy apartment, as well?"

"Most definitely," Bea said. They were joking with each other but neither one was in the mood to laugh.

"Bea?"

"Sweets?"

"I'm in Florida to visit my birth mother. I've not seen her since she left when I was a little boy."

"Oh," Bea said. She was too exhausted by her own burdens to inquire further, but she thought vaguely that the scars she had heard about on Lance's back might have something to do with that woman. "When you come back, we can talk about it. Lulu and I will be thinking of you, Sweets. We love you."

Lance started. It was the kind of statement said among close friends, and yet Lance was only used to such affection except from past lovers. Usually Bea veiled her emotions; he wondered what she could have possibly guessed about his past to realize how much he was hurting and needed comfort. He swallowed and then tried, "Love you guys, too." Just the act of saying those words made him feel better.

Back at the circus and standing in front of his birth mother's dingy but brightly colored tent, Lance tried to anticipate what would happen next. Frankly, he couldn't even think of a single question to ask this woman. Why in the world had he come? No turning back now. He lifted a flap.

Lance was immediately choked with the stench of sandalwood incense. One couldn't breathe in the close, reeking space, let alone think. It was no wonder his mother could convince people that she could read the future—his IQ was already dropping. And there she was seated in front of him, eyes closed, a cheap crystal ball on a small table between them.

"Sit," she said without opening her eyes. He couldn't decide if her voice was familiar or not after all these years. Not, he settled upon.

He sat, and she put her elegant hands on the ball. Finally she opened her eyes to reveal vague surprise.

"You."

"Me."

She shifted into fortune mode, "You've been in great pain recently."

"Wow, that must have been hard to guess," he snapped. He was irritable, partially from the incense, partially from her attempt to detach herself from the reality before her by pretending to read his fortune like any other customer.

"You've been abandoned by those dear to you—a love lost."

"Seriously, is that all you've got? Because you're basically describing what you did to me." Lance had to admit, the things she was saying were also true of him now. Talk about repeating life cycles. Would he always be doomed to anguish?

The spiritual quality of her stage voice dissipated, and she said, "What do you want to know? There must be something, or you wouldn't have come here. Me, I wanted to know what you looked like. How you turned out. Very handsome," she appraised, her eyes narrowed. She had on a brightly colored head scarf today fringed with gold coins.

Lance thought this woman was nothing like he had hoped or imagined. She was selfish and almost cold.

"I've turned out fine," he wanted to add, no thanks to you. But suddenly he felt like being the better person. He wanted to leave a positive impression to do service to his real parents. They had raised him to be compassionate and kind. He decided this would be his only communication with the woman seated before him.

So Lance said, "Thank you for the books."

"The books?" she appeared confused.

"You're Jewish?" Lance asked, ignoring her. She looked very Jewish.

"You're Jewish," she said, correcting him. After all, Jewish identity progressed matrilineally.

He looked at her. "Please don't contact me again. You and me…we have nothing except that in common. I wish you well." He attempted to keep his voice steady, but he realized he had about 3.5 seconds before he might break down. Swiftly he departed from the woman who had labored with him and fed him at her breasts but had not been his mother.