Patrick Jane had a special date the following night, which is why he'd spent more than half an hour looking for a suit on his wardrobe. Every time he'd choose one, he'd stand in front of the big mirror hanging in the wall, put the suit in front of him, and when he thought he'd finally found the perfect one, he'd find an imperfection and discard it immediately.
"Patrick, dinner's ready!" his wife yelled from the kitchen.
"In a minute!" he replied.
Five minutes later and he was still undecided. He sighed. Maybe it was better to buy a new one in the morning. Little steps echoed behind him and then a small and sweet voice made him smile.
"Daddy, we're waiting for you to have dinner."
Patrick turned around and walked to his little daughter, who was stretching her hand. However, he took her in his arms and hugged her, burying his face in her curly long blonde hair.
"I love you, my baby."
"I love you too, daddy."
"I see you're leaving me out of the hugs party."
Both Patrick and his daughter laughed.
"What do you say, Charlie? Should we invite mommy to the hug?"
"Yes!"
Father and daughter opened their arms, inviting her to a group hug. He hugged them tight and heard the voice of his wife, barely in a whisper.
"I love you, honey."
"I love you too, my love."
"Okay, let's have dinner now because I'm starving," said his wife, breaking the embrace.
Patrick put his daughter down and they all had dinner.
A few hours later, after dinner, watching television, chatting and convincing his daughter to go to sleep, Patrick and his wife were ready for a good night's sleep. Once having changed in his pajamas and having brushed his teeth, he walked to the bed, where his wife was waiting for him while reading a book by the light on the nightstand. But before he got there, he noticed the wardrobe was still open and with the lights on, so he turned them off. However, he stopped to think for a moment, until he decided to involve his wife in the choice of the suit.
"Angie," he said.
"Yes?"
"Could you help me choose my suit for tomorrow?"
She looked up from her book and stared at him.
"A suit for tomorrow?" she asked. He stared back for a few seconds and she finally understood. "Patrick, are you thinking of going to another interview? You told me you wouldn't do spiritual sessions on camera anymore!"
"I know, love, but this is…"
"This is what?" Angela got up from the bed and confronted him.
"This interview is to talk about the help I provide to the police, not to promote myself."
"Everything is to promote yourself!" she yelled. Then she covered her mouth and stayed silent. When she didn't hear her daughter wake up, she took a deep breath, and with a calmer voice spoke up. "Patrick, you know that what you're doing is not okay."
"I know," he murmured, looking down.
"Then, why are you doing it?" she asked, searching for his eyes. "Why do you act as if this doesn't affect you? I know you, Patrick, and I know that after every act, you feel miserable thinking that you're like your father."
He continued to look down with a lost stare and a knot on his throat.
"We left the carny life because of this," she continued. "Because we didn't want to become what they were. Look at Daniel, who he has become, and we said we didn't want that for our lives, and much less so for our daughter. Why are you still doing it?"
"Because it's the only thing I'm good at," he answered, and looked into her eyes, "Because it's the only thing I know."
"Patrick…"
"And I do it for her," he interrupted her, "I do it for Charlotte and for you. You deserve the best, the best things, and if I can give them to you with my skills, why not do it?"
She didn't say anything, only sighed and sat on the bed, moving her hand across her face, frustrated.
"Patrick, you can whatever you set your mind to. You could be a teacher, painter, you could act in movies, tv shows, you could sing… you are very smart. Why not use your skills to do good?"
"I do," he said, "I help the police find this serial killer."
"Oh, please! You only make up stupid things about him!"
"Yeah, maybe, but those stupid things pay me for your luxuries," he explained, almost in a reproachful tone, and immediately regretted it. Angela's stare, astonished, irate and, at the same time, sad, broke him.
He didn't want to reproach a thing, everything that he did was for the bliss of seeing them happy, of giving them the life he didn't have. He sighed and sat next to her on the bed.
"Listen, I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk to you like that."
"Patrick, neither Charlie nor me need material things to be happy, just the fact that the three of us love each other is enough," she shook her head, "You pretend to fill a void in us that doesn't exist, when in fact, you want to fill the void that there is in you." A tear escaped her eyes. "A void that we cannot fill," she said with sadness.
That destroyed him completely.
"No, Angela, don't think that for a second!" Patrick kneeled down in front of her and took her hands in his. "Listen, you and Charlotte are the best thing to ever happen in my life, you are the best thing I have, you are everything to me and those aren't empty words. Actually, I love you so much and you are the only reason I wake up happy and complete, because you are in my life. I don't deserve you two, I don't deserve the love you give me, and I'm the luckiest man in the world for having you."
She looked down and cried in silence.
"Angie," he searched her eyes, "I promise you that this will be the last time I come out on television."
She looked up and stared at him intently, and Patrick could feel it piercing very deep in his soul. Yes, she was seeking the lie in his eyes, the small hint of the deception in his lightly wet and blue eyes that she loved so much. It wasn't the first time that he promised the same thing and broke the vow in the three days that followed.
"How can I believe you, Patrick?" she whispered, caressing his curls.
"Because this time I mean it," he replied, "I'll do it, you have to believe me."
Angela looked at him for a few seconds and figured out there wasn't a single hint of lie in him. That scared her. He could very well be telling the truth that time, but she knew that he was an excellent actor, that he could be lying through his teeth. She didn't know what to think, and that made things even harder.
"Patrick, if you lie to me again…," she started but didn't have the courage to finish the sentence. Threatening him of leaving and taking Charlotte with her made her feel guilty. Patrick was greedy, and he was right, his 'career' was be a fake psychic, because it was all he knew, it was the source of income of the Janes, the easy money. But by no means he was a bad husband, much less so a bad father. No, Angela knew that he loved them dearly, there was no doubt about that. Charlotte was the light of his eyes, and he loved his little daughter.
Patrick looked at her expectantly, trying to decipher her thoughts but, of course, it was his wife, and his skills were useless when there were feelings involved.
"Okay," she said, followed by a sigh, "But this will be the last time."
"It will," he stated, "No more television."
He got up from the floor and sat next to her in the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her closer.
"Forgive me," he whispered on her lips. She didn't answer; only kissed him, closing her eyes shut and wishing that this time it was actually the last time.
After a few minutes of more promises and kisses, Angela helped him pick the suit and then they went to sleep.
Patrick looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes he had the feeling that, when he came out of the bathroom, when he opened the door, everything that he'd built, that beautiful family that he'd created, would vanish in front of his eyes; he feared that this was all a fragment of his imagination and that, when he walked through that door, he'd be in that dirty and old Airstream, decorated with alcohol bottles and the smell of cigarettes everywhere, listening the loud snoring from his father who'd lay asleep after a night of gambling.
He could still feel in his nose the nauseating smell of that place he once called a home; he could say it was imprinted on his skin, and that was why he was obsessed with buying expensive perfumes and practically showered in them. His wife would say that it was all in his head, but he swore he could feel his nostrils burning and making him nauseous.
He could never go back to that life ever again.
But still, having hated his childhood and adolescence, he couldn't help taking the only thing which he considered good from that horrible life: his career. Being a pseudo psychic was everything he'd always known and, like his wife had said the night before, it was all he was good at. Yes, Angie was right, he felt miserable after every act, after every con; he felt like his father. But how he felt didn't matter; what was important was the quality of life he provided his wife and daughter. If using his skills would bring money for the luxuries they deserved, he wasn't going to stop.
However, it would be the last time he'd come out on television. He had a big list of clients; he didn't need the publicity, at least for a while. So, he'd fulfill his promise, and it'd be the last interview he'd give.
But what he didn't know was that it would be the last breakfast he'd have with them, the last hug and kiss. It would be the last time he'd hear the voice of his wife singing, and her daughter saying I love you, daddy.
He had no idea that his actions would change his life forever.
Thanks to @redbadges for the translation.