“Oh,” said the man. He could see the woman’s odd smile, because she was front-lit by the same lamp that was backlighting him. And he didn’t know what to make of that smile. Because it didn’t match her sad eyes.

And then he felt like he should say more—because there was more he could have said. Much more. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Because he was too interested in hearing what the woman had to say.

“I’m sorry I’m still here,” said the woman, trying to figure out why she was still there. “It’s just…” She suddenly dropped her shoulders and let her head fall back so her face was open to the sky. “I can’t believe…,” she groaned.

The man wanted to know what the woman couldn’t believe.

But the woman didn’t say what it was that she couldn’t believe.

So the man asked, “What can’t you believe?”

“I—” The woman struggled to bring herself to say what she was about to say. Because what she was about to say was ridiculous.

And then she finally said it.

Because she felt like the man would understand, for some reason.

“I took a taxi here. From Bangor. To see him.”

The woman looked down and shook her head a little. And kicked at some ice in the driveway. And then laughed at herself. And made that strange argh sound she kept making.

The man just stared at the woman.

And said nothing for a while.

And then finally stated the obvious.

“That’s far.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a hundred and sixty-three miles.”

“Yeah.” The woman rolled her eyes. “This place is a little farther away from things than I remember.”

And the man wondered why in the world the woman would have done something as extravagant as spend several hundred dollars on a taxi ride.

“Why did you do that?” he asked incredulously.

The woman made that strange argh sound again. And then inhaled deeply. And held her breath for a moment. And then said, “Because I could only fly as close as Bangor, and I couldn’t wait till morning for the next flight to Presque Isle—because I needed to get to him as fast as I could.”

“Why?”

“I … wanted to answer a question he asked me.”

“Oh.” The man was intrigued.

“The last time I saw him, he asked me a very important question, and I didn’t answer it, and that’s just not a very nice thing to do to a person.”

“Well, that’s bein’ a little hard on yourself, don’t you think?”

“He asked me to marry him,” said the woman in a way that let the man know that she didn’t think she was being hard on herself—at all.

The man nodded as he took in this information. And agreed that not answering a marriage proposal is, in fact, not a very nice thing to do to a person. And remarked, “Oh.” And then, just to confirm that he had heard correctly, he asked, “And you…?”