Chapter 23

"Dark and silent last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I'm going, going
I'm going to Carolina in my mind
Can't you see the sunshine?
Can't you just feel the moonshine?
Maybe like a friend of mine
It hit me from behind
Yes I'm going to Carolina in my mind..."

- James Taylor

It was the Friday morning before Raul's and Barbara's wedding. Scott Rogers was looking out the window, searching for familiar landmarks as his flight prepared to land at the Columbia airport.

Scott was the vice-president of operations for a software services company. It was headquartered in the Orlando area, so it had been a fairly short flight. As usual when visiting his little sister Barbara and his nephew Bobby, it felt like he spent more time getting through the airport processes at either end, than he actually spent in the air.

Sitting next to him and holding his hand was Teresa Parker. Teresa accompanying him was both a last minute development, and the culmination of years of deliberation.

He made room for her to lean over to the window, and pointed out his old high school down below. As he held her in his arms, he felt like the luckiest man alive.

Scott had been a bachelor his whole life. A psychologist had once attributed his "disinclination towards commitment" to be due to a profound, if subliminal, resentment against his mother's blatant lack of interest in her children as they grew up.

As the older of the two kids by four years, Scott had been affected more than Barbara by the "above average level of dysfunction" (another term from the psychologist) in their upbringing. He'd instinctively doted on his little sister to compensate for their parents ambivalence, and they had remained close ever since.

But every other woman that became close to him, eventually left frustrated. His psyche was closely guarded against any woman not named Barbara. His disillusioned subconscious equated committed relationships with emotional fraud.

So while he was a pleasant boyfriend and passionate lover with his partners, they eventually left him when he couldn't take the relationship to next step: true commitment. Although the psychologist had explained all this to Scott, he had been unable to overcome it, with the recurring rationalization that he had yet to find the "right" woman.

Six months earlier, Teresa Parker had been the closest yet to finding her way through Scott's mental obstacle course. She had the advantage of having been a psychology major in college. She used that experience only obliquely in her job as a successful realtor, but it had been very handy when dealing with Scott. She had understood him, like no woman before her.

Teresa took to calling him "Mr. Rogers," as a signal to him, whenever she felt he was reverting to his emotional isolationist tendencies ("Hiding in your neighborhood again, Mr. Rogers?"). He sincerely, if unsuccessfully, tried to purge his emotional baggage for her. But finally, six months ago, after they had been together for a year, she had assured him that although she loved him dearly, she had to leave him, as an act of "tough love."

Scott had been miserable ever since. He refused invitations to date other women. He called Teresa at least once a week to talk, which she was more than happy to do. They occasionally had lunch together. But when he asked her to return to him, she consistently refused, patiently explaining it wasn't a good idea until he worked out his commitment issues. She was driving him crazy.

When the wedding invitation arrived from his sister, along with an invitation to stay with her while he was in town, it triggered something in him he couldn't understand. He sat staring at the wedding invitation, alone in his beautiful home on a golf course, a Porsche in his garage, watching the sunset, the man who had everything. And he wept like a baby.

He stayed up all night. When he finally couldn't wait any longer the next morning, he called Teresa.

"Hello?" she said sleepily. Realtor hours tended go late into the evening, so her usual wake up time was hours after his. He knew that, but just couldn't wait.

"Hi," he said softly.

She took a moment before responding. He had never called her this early before - he was always considerate about when he called.

"Hi, Scott... Are you alright?"

"Yeah... No... I just..." he trailed off, unable to continue. Inside, he was screaming at himself. He knew what he wanted to say. A lifetime of hang-ups was standing like a mountain in front of him.

"Scott... has something happened?"

"No... Yes... I..."

"Honey, take your time," she said soothingly. "I'm here for you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," he gasped. She could hear the pain and misery in his voice. She waited patiently for him to say something more, lying in her bed with her eyes closed.

"Teresa?" he said finally, after almost three minutes of silence, as she listened to his ragged breathing.

"Yes, Scott?"

He clenched his fist around the phone. Feeling like he was trying to bench press his Porsche, he finally managed to say it.

"Teresa... Will you marry me?"

Teresa's eyes popped wide open. "What?" she said incredulously.

"You heard me," he gasped, unable to repeat himself.

She bit back a flippant response. After a moment, in the voice he recognized as the one she used during psychoanalysis of her wayward love interest, she said, "Say it again, Scott."

"Shit!"

"Say it again, Scott." This time, to his relief, he heard just the tiniest bit of tease in her voice.

"I... I... I want..."

"No," she interrupted. "Like you said it before." Now he could clearly hear the laughter she was holding back. "You started by saying, 'Teresa... ' she prompted.

"Oh god. I... I mean... Teresa... Will you marry me?"

She laughed in delight. He felt his heart swelling with joy that he had managed to ask her.

Then came her reply. "No," she said, and giggled.

"What!" he exclaimed.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"What? I'm... I'm at home. Why?"

"I'll be right over." And she hung up!

"Ahhhrrrrg!" he screamed into the dead phone.

She arrived in minutes, which he thought was physically impossible given the distance and traffic between their homes. She was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and no makeup. He thought she was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her before.

When he opened the door, she jumped on him, almost knocking him over. While he struggled to stay upright, she climbed up his body with gripping arms and legs, while plastering her mouth to his. He staggered over to a nearby couch and collapsed backwards on to it, with her on top of him.

When they finally came up for air, he was surprised when she stood up, straightened her hair, pulled a pair of reading glasses and a notepad from a back pocket, perched the glasses on her nose, and sat on the chair next to the couch.

"Now then," she said in her analyst voice.

"Oh god," he moaned.

"Be quiet," she responded to the interruption. "Now then," she resumed, "let's talk about what led up to your call this morning."

He squirmed uncomfortably. "What? Nothing! Nothing happened, I just realized..." He tried to sound as innocent as possible, but his voice trailed off as he saw she wasn't buying it.

"You are so full of shit," she replied calmly, shaking her head.

"Really!" he protested. She eyed him over her glasses, like he was an interesting bug she was preparing to dissect. She said nothing, waiting patiently.

Finally he sighed in capitulation. "I, uh, got something in the mail."

She raised her eyebrows. "Interesting," was all she commented in response.

"It was from my sister," he finally added.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," said Teresa.

He glowered back at her, which she ignored completely, waiting expectantly for more data from her victim/patient.

"She's... she's... she's..." he stuttered, reluctant to give Teresa the information. He knew she would be all over his ass, like white on rice, when he gave it up.

"Yeees?" she said teasingly. "I'm guessing it has something to do with Barbara..."

"She's... she's getting married again," he finally spit out.

Teresa sat immobile, looking back at him. After a few moments, he saw her shoulders sag a little.

"I see," she finally said quietly. She turned and looked out the window, and Scott heard her sigh. She stood up, returning her notebook and glasses to her pockets. "I'm very happy for her," she said tonelessly. She started to walk towards the door.

Scott was bewildered. He had expected her to launch into another autopsy of his psyche, clinically pointing out how his mind was malfunctioning yet again. He hated the examinations, but he loved them in spite of himself. Her body language's expression of weary defeat was something he hadn't seen before.