After the perfection of that Season 6 finale, I wish wish wish I owed something as awesome as The Mentalist.
But I don't. I just write about it for fun. Hope you enjoy this Paradise of the Heart.
Patrick Jane's five years of servitude under the FBI had seemed to go on forever. Yes, he knew he'd gotten off lightly for committing murder in cold blood, especially of a law enforcement officer, the sheriff of Napa County, California. Even though his imprisonment included all living expenses paid, a rolling home that salved his gypsy soul, all the best tea he could ask for and a decent wage on top of it all, he chaffed at the velvet bonds imposed by his Federal overlords.
But when his sentence had been served and his crime finally punished, he immediately made arrangements to go back to his little island off the coast of Venezuela, where the dolphins played in the surf, the postage rate changed daily, and his tailored shirts were always under threat of charreteras. The generous FBI wages that he'd saved up amply paid for a house close to the beach this time, one that he could comfortably label as 'Home'.
Stirring his tea, he carried it to the porch, balancing the white cup in a dainty saucer. He was intent on continuing his re-reading the Spanish language version of A Tale of Two Cities, just so he could mock the inaccuracies in the translation.
The sound of sand crunching under his shoes on the decking brought a smile to his face. The bright red pail nearby, tipped on its side, was evidently the source of grit under foot. A couple feet away, a green plastic shovel stuck out of the beach-sand that abutted the porch, telling the story of an active mind easily distracted by the next new excitement at the seashore.
"Hey!" a stern yet female voice called. It was edged with matronly tension, not much different than the tones the woman used as a supervisor in California.
He squinted into the midday sun, trying to block the glare off the water by raising his hand as if in a salute. It barely worked for allowing him to view the two silhouettes against the vivid blue sea. One form was gorgeous and curvy in a one piece bathing suit under a gauzy, tropics-print wrap. The other form was short and hard to see because it was as fast as the dickens in its escape from Mom's attempts to spoil the fun of running after seagulls.
Jane grinned as he settled himself on the two-person hammock hanging from the rafters. This chase was one he never got tired of witnessing, even though sometimes it occurred several times in a day. In many ways, his son was as big a troublemaker as he himself ever was.
And he knew that Teresa would miss it after they returned to the States to their jobs in Austin in a few weeks. It's happened before. He'd look into his wife's office and catch her staring off into space. Then a gentle smile would spread across on her lips as her gaze dropped to the photo on her desk, of the two of them, where tow-headed Gavin's curly head pressed to her chest as he squirmed with impatience through the imposition of his father's entire photo session. After all there were sandcastles to be made and seagulls to catch. One more minute of posing would be one minute too long.
Patrick sighed as his wife finally nabbed their son and brought him away from the dangerous waves, trying not to be too harsh in her scolding. Gavin was getting old enough that even the Terrible Twos were becoming just a memory.
By definition, paradise equaled perfection and was found in many forms. It was a good thing that no matter where Patrick Jane went, his paradise travelled with him in his heart, in the form of a slender brunette and high-spirited little blond boy.