Before Tomorrowland by Jeff Jensen

THE REFRESHMENT counter in Caravan Hall offered popcorn without butter, hot dogs, watery punch, and watery coffee. Lee ordered coffee for himself and a punch for his mom, who was busy with another portfolio review across the auditorium. At the beginning of their convention time, he was anxious to keep her in sight, but she only seemed to gain energy as the afternoon wore on. It was Lee who felt exhausted.

He sat down at a table messy with crumpled napkins, cups, and a couple flyers. He took a sip of his drink but the sugar didn't sit well with him. Lee had felt unsettled since his strange encounter with the Plus Ultra peddler and his mesmerizing gaze. He must have passed the funny-looking man's table more than a dozen times while following Clara from publisher to publisher. It was almost like the arrangement of exhibitors and the traffic flow was all engineered to parade attendees past his station, over and over. The memory of their creepy conversation only reinforced his paranoia. How could the man know about his mom's cancer? He couldn't have, not unless she had told him her life's story when they met at Penn Station. Clara Brackett was a friendly and chatty woman who had no problem talking to strangers, but she wouldn't tell some random soul about her cancer. She hated to talk about it even with the people she knew and loved.