“I mean, people, or life, or… I don’t know what.”

“I don’t think there are little green men running.”

“The sky seems so big. I can’t believe there’s nothing out there.”

They were silent for a time as they stared into space. Sam repositioned himself and leaned in to kiss her. His upper lip scratched her face and his breath tasted of onions. She stilled his roaming hand after he undid the top button of her blouse. When his kiss became more insistent, she pulled back.

“Argh. What is it with you? You want to be my girl, don’t you?”

Did she? “It isn’t that. I’ve told you before—I want to wait until I’m married. I’m not some floozy. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to go elsewhere.”

“For God’s sake.” Sam pulled back. “I was going to wait to do this, but…” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Mary swallowed hard. Could he be…?

“Mary Elizabeth Trask, will you marry me?” He opened the box to reveal a sparkling diamond solitaire.

Mary’s heart pounded so hard she was certain he would feel it.

“Well, say something.”

“I…”

“I already asked your mother for your hand. That’s why I was at your house that day when you came home from school. She said she’d be proud to have me as her son-in-law.”

Whatever trepidation she’d been feeling morphed into red-hot anger. “You went to my mother behind my back?”

“It wasn’t like that. I-I wanted to do this the right way. Your father isn’t around, so I had to ask your mother.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

Mary ground her teeth. “Why is it more important to you what my mother thinks than it is what I want?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it my mother you want to marry?”

“What? Of course not! I want to marry you.”

“Then what does asking my mother have to do with anything?”

“It may seem old fashioned to you, but I was trying to be chivalrous. It’s customary to ask the father for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I can’t very well ask your father, now can I? So I did the next best thing.”

“Unbelievable.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” Mary tried to buy herself more time. What had he done wrong? She tried to make sense of her rage. Sam still held the box open between them. She resisted the urge to run. “Take me home.”

“What?”

Mary faced forward and slid as far away from him as she could. “I said, take me home, Sam. Now. I want to go home.” She worked to keep the edge of panic out of her voice.

He looked crestfallen. “You’re not going to give me an answer?”

Mary remained mum.