There were no customers in sight. Still, it was better to keep a low profile. Greta parked the car next to a pole with a burned-out bulb, about a hundred feet from the station's central area. She pulled the acrylic makeup bag from the glove compartment, pushing aside forgotten mascara and lipsticks in search of face powder. She moved the brush repeatedly over the black eye, giving it light taps now and then. She worked from the swollen eyelid to the yellowish bruise on her cheekbone, noticing the skin was still tender to the touch, and hoped it would be enough.
She observed her own reflection in the rearview mirror. There: almost a movie star.
Saying goodbye to her own image with a grimace, she grabbed her purse and got out of the car. She looked around for any other vehicles, but there were none. Not even the traditional trucks asleep in the shadows of roadside stations were anywhere to be seen. Maybe there was a parking lot on the other side of the small building behind the station. It was unlikely the employees flew in.
he cold predawn wind brought a peculiar smell, a mixture of gasoline with a sweet, almost sickening aroma, making the woman wrinkle her nose. Greta opened the trunk and grabbed the two empty gas cans stored there.
She walked slowly, her eyes scanning the landscape for security cameras. It was a new habit to cultivate. She found one camera, hanging by exposed wires like a dead insect in a web.
"You lost?"
The unexpected sound made Greta's body shudder, her heart nearly leaping from her mouth. A tall man was looking at her under the dim lighting of the pump area. The brown leather jacket barely disguised the width of his shoulders. The dark T-shirt under the jacket, the well-cut jeans without grease stains, and the spotless hiking boots contrasted with the station's air of abandonment. His eyes could be blue or gray, but it was hard to tell in the half-light. Definitely not an employee. The open smile accentuated the stranger's relaxed and confident posture: too confident for someone alone at an empty station in the middle of nowhere.
His dark hair, gently blown by the breeze, framed a face that would be attractive under other circumstances, perhaps in daylight, among ordinary people, and not here, under dying lamps and the hum of the pumps. Because it was one thing to see a gray wolf highlighted against the snow in an article about life in the northern hemisphere. It was quite another to come face to face with the animal during a solitary walk through dense woods.
He was looking directly into her eyes, perhaps for too long. Had he noticed the black eye? The man remained planted in place, hands stuffed in his pockets, without introducing himself or extending his hand in greeting.
"No, I'm fine. Where's the attendant?" Greta responded, peering from side to side while her thumb rubbed her ring finger, free of the wedding band, in an unconscious and stubborn movement.
"Haven't seen anyone around. Not at the station or in the store."
The casualness of the comment triggered a red alert in Greta. If there was no one nearby, who would she call for help if the man had bad intentions?
Maybe he'd picked up on the fear in her eyes, or the way she took a slow step backward, because he raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender.
"Hey, relax, we're in the same boat. My motorcycle broke down on the old road. I came to get gas. I live nearby. You know that farm property?"
She shook her head.
"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Want help with those?" He pointed at the empty cans she was holding, without moving from his spot.
Greta nodded with a quick movement of her chin. When he took two steps forward, she tightened her fingers around the purse strap, her thoughts fixed on the gun inside. If he rushed her, if he invited her to go anywhere strange... She'd pull the trigger without blinking. Above them, the broken camera swayed slowly in the night breeze, the exposed wires casting shadows that danced on the concrete. Now it didn't seem so great that it was broken.
"Okay. Thanks," said Greta, wiping her hands on her pants. "I'm going to go inside and buy some water. My throat's dry."
"No problem. I'll fill these up and leave them by your car. That Creta by the pole?"
"Yes. That's it. Thanks so much for the help. I'll figure out how to pay later."
"Pay? It's a favor, lady, you don't need to pay anything."
"The gas, I meant. Because there's no one here."
He flashed an employee-of-the-month smile, so wide and open that the knot in Greta's stomach loosened. He turned his back to her, with obvious nonchalance, and headed for the pumps
Only then did Greta move. Every step toward the store was taken sideways, keeping the stranger in her field of vision. At the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. The man was going about his task distractedly, whistling a tune she didn't recognize.
Inside the store, the air was cold and everything smelled of industrial disinfectant. The white light from the fluorescent lamps emitted a low hum, revealing immaculate shelves but no sign of life. The table next to the door contained a much more comforting sight than an attendant: two thermal carafes full of coffee. Some stations in the region offered the beverage as a courtesy to nighttime visitors.
Greta filled a plastic cup to the brim with the dark, too-sweet liquid. She drank with her eyes closed, feeling the beverage spread a wave of warmth to her frozen chest. Even with the excess sugar, in that moment it seemed like the best coffee of her life. "Hunger is the best seasoning," as her grandmother used to say. Now Greta thought sleep was a good seasoning too. She soon filled a second cup while assessing the deserted store.
Maybe the employee was in the bathroom. And judging by the delay, he was taking a number two. She hung a basket on her arm and explored the aisles. She grabbed two sandwiches without even realizing it. Years of marriage turn independent beings into halves without anyone noticing. She added a bag of chips, another of butter cookies, and two liters of bottled water to the basket.
She set the items on the counter. She rang the bell and waited, one arm folded on the wooden surface. Anxiously, she tossed a pack of sugar-free gum into the little basket and rubbed her bare arms, where the raised hairs protested against the air conditioning. Or against the unsettling silence. No one appeared.