Teresa's eyes are caught immediately by the cart selling funnel cakes, so Patrick pulls her in that direction. She throws her head back and laughs as he leads her through the throng of squealing children and frazzled parents. Before she can argue with him, he orders two funnel cakes and pays for both. He only eats half of his, offering the rest to Teresa when she scarfs hers down quickly.
She takes it without hesitation.
"Alright, heartthrob," she says between bites. "You're the expert here. What do you recommend we do?"
"Well, first things first," Patrick responds. "There's someone special I'd like you to meet."
She swallows her last chunk of funnel cake. "Is your father still working here?"
Patrick shakes his head. "God, no," he says. "The circuit lost track of him years ago." He gestures with a hand to lead them to a large red and yellow circus-style tent. "No, this is far better."
Her curiosity is piqued, and she follows him eagerly to the opening of the tent. He sweeps the fabric aside, and she says, "Are we allowed to be here?"
"I know a guy," says Patrick, grinning, guiding her inside before him.
He allows the tent to fall closed behind him and moves to stand next to Teresa, who's staring, shell-shocked, toward the center of the tent. A single spotlight shines, illuminating an elephant, who stares curiously back at them.
"Well, hello," says Teresa in the same voice she uses when talking to Lizzie.
"Meet Daisy," Patrick whispers. A middle-aged man with an imposing presence steps out behind Daisy, and Patrick grins. "And Pete."
"Patrick Jane," says Pete, grinning. "You son of a bitch."
Patrick walks up to Pete and embraces him. "You dog."
They separate, and Pete glances over at Teresa. "She a cop?"
Teresa's smile falters. "It's that obvious?"
"It's not a bad thing," says Patrick.
"Who's the lovely lady, Jane? You must be crazy about her if you're trying to impress her with Daisy."
Patrick smiles and looks over at Teresa. He reaches out his hand to gesture to her. "This is my good friend Teresa," he says. "And, yeah, I'm pretty crazy about her."
Pete and Teresa shake hands. "Good to meet you, my dear."
"And you," says Teresa. She looks eagerly up at Daisy. "Can I…?" she asks, unsure.
"Oh, yeah, of course," says Pete. He searches in his pockets and withdraws an apple, which he tosses to her. "Give her this."
Teresa catches it with one hand and steps to Daisy. "Hey," she says softly, raising the apple. Daisy takes it in her trunk and swallows it whole, and Teresa beams.
"Do you want to see a trick?" asks Pete, and though Teresa nods eagerly, Patrick steps forward.
"Teresa just gave birth. Let Daisy show the trick on me, not Teresa."
Pete gestures for Teresa to stand back, and Patrick switches places with her. Pete gives a hand signal to Daisy, and suddenly Patrick is hoisted into the air as Daisy's trunk wraps around his stomach. Teresa shrieks in surprise.
Pete gives a different signal, and Daisy flips Patrick upside down. Patrick watches as Teresa tries to stifle her laughter. "Do you think we can keep him there?" she asks Pete, who snickers.
As the blood rushes to his head, Patrick's vision swims, but not before he sees Teresa step toward him. "This was a pretty slick move," she says, placing a hand on his cheek. "Taking me here to impress me."
"Is it working?"
She snorts. "Let's put him down before he bursts a blood vessel," she says, looking over at Pete and stepping back. Pete signals again, and Daisy puts Patrick down. He sways, and his vision tunnels as equilibrium reestablishes itself. Teresa steadies him with a hand on his elbow.
"You wasted a prime opportunity to ask embarrassing stories about my childhood," he mutters to her. "You had me at your mercy hoisted in the air."
"I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunity for that later." She reaches out to Daisy, who extends her trunk. Teresa approaches tentatively, smiling widely, and Patrick turns to Pete, the conversation flowing easily. Teresa joins in on occasion, and Patrick's heart swells.
Sometime later, Patrick checks his watch. "You got a show coming up in a few minutes, right, Pete? We'll get out of your hair."
Pete steps forward to give Patrick another hug. "It's good to see you, Jane. Don't be a stranger, okay?"
Patrick claps him on the back, suddenly too emotional to respond.
Pete steps back and turns to Teresa. "A pleasure," he says, shaking her hand again.
"I'll definitely keep in touch. Having some dirt on Patrick will be useful," she says, deadpan, and Pete guffaws as they walk away.
They make it a couple feet out of the tent before Teresa grabs his arm. "You learned about deception from your carnie friends, right?"
He nods. "I did."
"So the people you learned from must have been pretty good."
"They were," he says, and he follows her line of vision to another tent with large letters displaying the word PSYCHIC above the canvas. This tent, however - unlike the red and yellows of the circus tent - is made of shimmering material that flutters in the unseasonably cool breeze. Patrick looks over at Teresa. "You want to get a reading done?" he asks, dubious. It doesn't sound like her at all.
"No," she says, shaking her head. Her expression is stoic enough to rival Cho's best pokerface. "I want you to get one."
It's been over a decade since he'd had any connection with the carnival. Back then, he'd been the only psychic in the group. He's not sure who this new person is - or even if they have any talent.
But Teresa will be amused if they have talent or lack it, he reasons, so he says, "First time for everything" and allows himself to be led into the tent.
It's dimly lit, a deliberate change from the bright lights of the carnival - most likely to give the "psychic" a chance to look over their customers before their eyes adjust, Patrick knows. String lights hang like a halo around a small, antique table, at which sits a woman with curly, auburn hair.
"Welcome," she says. "Please." She gestures to the seats in front of her. She turns immediately to Patrick. "So, you'll be getting your fortune read. Palm or tarot?"
Teresa glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and he pulls out a chair for her. She sits, and so does he. "Tarot," he says, folding his hands in front of him on the table.
The woman narrows her eyes at him, as though he presents a challenge she's eager to undertake. Then she reaches for her deck of cards.
"This world is familiar to you, is it not?" she asks.
Patrick nods. "I grew up here," he admits.
"I thought so," the woman says, shuffling the deck. "Shall we begin?"
She doesn't wait for him to answer and begins laying out cards, one after the other, from the top of her deck. "You may ask me questions at any time," she says, and once she's laid out five cards, she sets the deck aside again and flips over the first card.
"The Wheel of Fortune," continues the woman. "You are about to undertake a period of great change in your life. Whether that change is for better or for worse is remains to be seen."
"What kind of change?" asks Teresa, and Patrick notes the curiosity in her tone, her cautious skepticism.
"It could be related to social standing, finances, your career, a friendship. Or all of the above." She flips the next card. "Ah," she says. "The Magician. This indicates that you must approach a future event with everything you have; you must not hold back. You have talent that you must use unreservedly."
She turns over the next card with a flourish. "Curious. The Hanged Man. Now, most people would fear the worst with such a card, but in reality, it represents self-sacrifice. You will find something - or someone - worthy of your life." The woman glances at Teresa. "Sooner rather than later, I expect."
She nods as she reveals the next card. "Yes, this makes sense," she says. "The Lovers. This card indicates that some choice regarding a temptation of the heart will soon come to pass. With its proximity to The Hanged Man, I'd treat this choice with the utmost care."
Patrick refrains from rolling his eyes only barely.
"What do you mean?" asks Teresa.
Patrick can't help himself. "She's implying I'll sacrifice my heart when I make this choice."
The woman nods. "It is an unusual combination of cards. One I've seen only rarely, in fact." She flips over the last card. "Death," she breathes, and Patrick feels Teresa tense beside him. "Not necessarily representing physical death. This could be the death of a friendship or relationship."
"Can it be avoided?" asks Teresa.
"Your future is already written in the stars. All that's left is to live it."
Patrick stands and throws a few bills on the table. "Thank you for your time," he says curtly, and Teresa pushes her chair back to follow him out.
When they're back under the neon lights of the carnival, Teresa wraps an arm around his. "She was good," she says.
Patrick nods. "Yes, she was," he admits grudgingly. "Though all of what she said really could apply to most of the people here."
"She got under your skin."
"Yes."
Teresa touches her hand to his cheek to force him to look at her. "You know she was saying that stuff because she thinks you're hot, right?"
He misses a step. "What?"
"She likes you," says Teresa. "She was trying to rattle you. You know, like the carnival equivalent of pulling someone's pigtails."
Patrick scoffs. "Please."
"Come on, Patrick, you're the mentalist here. Her expression was pretty obvious. She was checking you out as you stood up to leave."
"You thoroughly enjoyed having her read me, didn't you?" he says, playfully exasperated.
Teresa grins. "Every second of it."
"You wanted me to get a reading simply to mess with me."
"Obviously."
His smile is so wide his eyes start to squint. He throws his arms around her and pulls her close, whispering in her ear, "You drive me crazy, woman."
Her laugh is angelic.
Later, they find themselves in front of a two-story temporary building painted to match a brilliant sunset, its yellows, oranges, pinks, and reds contrasting with the ink of the sky.
"What is this?" asks Teresa as they stop short.
"A fun house," says Patrick. "Want to check it out?"
"What kind of a question is that?" Teresa laughs, and he can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.
He purchases tickets, and they walk inside. The lights are just bright enough to navigate but leave much to be imagined, with shadows exaggerated at every corner.
"This isn't the same one from your childhood, is it?" asks Teresa over her shoulder as they enter a hall of mirrors.
"No," he says. "I suspect that one didn't last much longer than I did at the carnival." He trips, and Teresa turns around to check on him.
"You okay?"
"My eyesight is terrible," he admits. "Especially in the dark." He glances around at the distorting mirrors.
Teresa grabs his hand. "Follow my lead," she says, guiding him.
They begin to make their way through the mirrors slowly, and Teresa turns her head slightly to address him again.
"If you had to do it all over again, would you still choose to leave?" she asks.
"Without a doubt," Patrick responds. "Leaving the carnival led me to make some mistakes, but it also led me to the CBI. And to you."
She stops suddenly, and he stumbles into her, his hands landing on her hips, his nose buried in her hair.
"What is this to you?" she asks suddenly. "What am I to you?"
His eyes flit down to the graceful curve of her neck. "Everything," he says breathlessly. "Don't ask me what I mean by that," he adds. "Not yet, anyway."
She leans back into him slightly before pulling away, reaching behind her to grab his fingers. She nods.
They begin to move again, exiting the hall of mirrors and reaching a rotating tunnel. He swears. "I'm going to have to crawl through this," he says, and Teresa laughs. He watches as, fearless, Teresa jumps into the tunnel and takes off. She doesn't miss a step, and seconds later she is peering over at him from the other side.
He makes it approximately two feet before falling straight on his face. The tunnel continues to spin, making it nearly impossible to get balanced again, but suddenly a strong pair of steady hands is pulling him up and forward. Then he's on steady ground.
"Always coming to my rescue," he says.
"Count on it."
They climb two flights of stairs and find themselves on a loft overlooking the hall of mirrors below. In front of them is a massive slide leading the way back to ground level and ending in a ballpit. Patrick reaches over to grab a burlap mat from a pile by the railings. He sets it down at the top of the slide and sits, gesturing for Teresa to join him. She does, sitting between his legs, her back to his chest, and he wraps his arms around her.
He pushes forward.
She shrieks as they fly downward, and he tightens his grip on her torso.
In a second it's over. They tumble into the ballpit, sinking into the plastic.
She tosses a ball at him, and it bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. "You're setting some high standards for yourself," she says.
"That's the goal," says Patrick, wading toward her. "Come here, woman." And he pulls her flush against him.
"Do you seduce women at the carnival often?" Teresa asks.
"You're the first woman I've ever wanted to seduce," he says. "Why?"
She's breathing heavily. "You're really good at it," she says, shooting him a smile and then breaking away and climbing out of the pit.
He smirks and scrambles after her.
As the night goes on, the outside temperature drops several degrees. Two children sprint in front of them, their parents a second behind. Patrick looks over at Teresa. "You hungry?"
She nods.
"Excellent. There are a couple of things you have to try." He offers her his arm, and she takes it.
Rather than ordering separate meals, he leads her to several different food carts, and ten minutes later their arms are laden with pizza on a stick, churros and chocolate sauce, caramel corn, a giant pretzel, and two lemonades. They find an unoccupied picnic table and sit down next to each other, touching from shoulder to hip to thigh.
"So you grew up on this food?"
He laughs. "No, no, no," he says, tearing the pretzel into several pieces and dunking one into cheddar cheese dip. "This stuff was only for special occasions. Carnie folk don't really give handouts, even to other carnie members, so we made our own food. My dad wasn't exactly a good cook, so I did the best I could." He makes a face. "My best wasn't very good at the time."
She nudges him with her elbow and takes a sip of her lemonade. "Come on," she says. "You're a great cook."
"Yes, now," he says, laughing. "I had lots of practice."
Teresa grabs the pizza on a stick and bites into it. "Did you have a lot of friends here when you were young?"
He shrugs. "There weren't many kids my age," he says. "Pete took me under his wing, and I heard he got married to his longtime sweetheart, Sam, recently. I'll introduce you to her next time. But to be honest, I burned a lot of bridges when I left here. With carnies, you're either with them or you're a mark. When I left, I became a mark. I recognized a lot of people here tonight, but it's probably easier that they didn't recognize me."
She offers him the pizza. Instead of grabbing the stick, he leans over a takes a bite as she holds it. Teresa smiles and then returns to nibbling on the pizza.
She swallows. "Tell me about your happiest memory here," she says.
He stares off into space. "I must have been about twelve or so," he says slowly, returning to his memory palace. "It was a fourth of July picnic, and there was happy music." He smiles. "A little girl was being lifted into the air by her father." Patrick looks over at Teresa. "I had some good memories here. But I've had a lot more since I met you."
She blushes and looks down, reaching for a churro and dipping it into the chocolate sauce. She takes a bite then dips it again and offers it to him, and he leans over once more to bite into the churro.
"Did you keep anything from your childhood?" Teresa asks. "Apart from the book and photograph, that is."
"We didn't have much," Patrick admits, finishing another churro. "We lived in an Airstream, so there wasn't a lot of room for personal possessions. I got out of there with the clothes on my back."
"What happened to the aunt you mentioned? The one who gave you the book?"
"I asked Pete when I called him to set up showing you Daisy," Patrick says. "She, uh...she died several years ago." He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. "Cancer."
"I'm sorry," says Teresa, taking his hand in hers.
He shrugs. "It's okay. She showed me some kindness here, but I didn't know her well. It's hard to truly know the people here."
"Why's that?"
"They think that the more people know about you, the easier it is to become a mark."
She looks at him strangely. "You really believe that?"
"No," he murmurs. "I don't." He starts gathering the trash on the table and stands. "I have one thing left to show you," he says, tossing their empty cups and used napkins in the nearest trash bin. He pulls her to her feet, his hand moving to rest on the small of her back.
They cross the picnic table area, and he leads Teresa toward the line for the ferris wheel. As they wait, he feels her shiver, and he immediately shrugs out of his jacket and places it on her shoulders.
"Patrick," she says, immediately protesting. "You don't need to - "
"Hush, woman," he responds.
Three minutes later, he's paid for tickets and they climb into their pod. They sit, and the pod lurches forward. As the pod climbs, Teresa looks over at him.
"Thank you," she says. "For showing me your home. Your childhood."
"My pleasure," he murmurs.
The stars can't compete with the gleam in her eyes as she looks down at the carnival below. He thinks of his past, of hers - and of the moment they almost crossed paths.
"Do you think we were always supposed to meet?" he asks her.
She nods. "Yeah," she says, turning to look at him. "I do."
He tucks a stray ebony curl back into place behind her ear. "Happy birthday, Teresa," he whispers.
She gapes at him. "How did you - "
He grins conspiratorially. She rolls her eyes, leaning back against him, and he lifts his arm to lay it across her shoulders. She rests her head in the crook of his neck.
Her lips find his collarbone, and he trembles at the touch.