Chapter 2: Whispers at the Gas Station
Laura drove with the windows down, the air thick with salt and heat and something else she couldn’t name. The coastline curled like a beckoning finger. Each mile between her and the city was a mile between her and the night she couldn’t forget.
She hadn’t told Bob what happened at The Playground. She carried that night in her bones, quiet and pulsing.
Not how wet she'd gotten watching another woman beg for it. Not how many men had taken his wife. Not how her body still ached at night, as if the club had roused something that refused to go back to sleep.
This trip had seemed like a gift. A free weekend at a remote coastal retreat, “perfect for reflection and restoration.” She didn’t remember entering the giveaway—but the confirmation had landed in her inbox days after the club. Like someone had known.
The gas station looked like it had been abandoned and then reluctantly reopened. One pump. Peeling Coke signs in the window. She filled up quickly, grabbed a bottle of water and a granola bar, and stepped inside.
Laura popped the cap off the water bottle before she even reached the counter. Her lips were dry, her eyes bleary from hours of driving. The tiny coastal gas station was musty and overlit, like time hadn’t touched it in decades.
“$3.28,” said the bored teen behind the counter.
As she handed over a five, she felt eyes on her — heavy, unmoving. In the far corner, slumped in a sun-bleached chair by the faded window, sat an old woman. Her skin was lined like driftwood. Her gray hair was braided down her chest, and she wore a cardigan despite the heat. She hadn’t looked up when Laura entered. But now she stared straight at her.
“Don’t walk that beach barefoot.”
Laura blinked.
“Excuse me?”
The woman didn’t smile. Her voice was gravel, rusted with age.
“And if the wind hums in your ears, don’t follow it. Even if it sounds like someone you love.”
The clerk let out a breath. “Edna, please.”
“Got a husband?” the old woman asked, louder now.
Laura shifted, unsure whether to nod or laugh. “Yes, I—”
“Then keep your vows. The Sea doesn’t care what your mouth says. It listens to what you think. And if your mind wanders where it shouldn’t…”
Her eyes went glassy again.
“...you’ll wake up hollow, and wet, and gone.”
The air seemed colder than it had a moment ago. The clerk mumbled an apology as Laura took her change and backed out of the store.
What an odd woman. Laura thought as she resumed her drive to the cabin, but the words clung to her like sea mist..