Grey Areas

by Brad Carl

  "That does sound...different," Henry said. He'd never been a fan of eating anything that still had eyes. Claire laughed at his response.

  "Of course, if you drink enough first you'll be so hungry you won't care where your food is coming from," she added, taking another swallow of her wine. Henry placed his glass on the coffee table in front of them.

  "You say you owe me an apology?" he asked. Claire took another quick sip and set her glass on the coffee table next to Henry's.

  "The other day when I got on your case about the big tip you left me," she began, "that wasn't fair."

  Henry shrugged.

  "You hadn't done anything to deserve that kind of attitude from me," Claire continued. "I gave you good service and you tipped me what you felt it was worth. There's nothing wrong with that. I just have...issues."

  "It's no big deal," Henry said. "We all have little things that set us off."

  Claire's eyes lingered on Henry's during a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. She rubbed her left wrist with her right hand.

  "I haven't seen you in a few days," she said in a softer tone. "I thought maybe I'd scared you off."

  Henry wondered if it was customary for her to stop by a customer's house with a bottle of wine to apologize for her peculiar behavior. He decided against posing the question out loud.

  "No, no," Henry replied. "I've just been getting settled into a routine and stuff. Nothing personal."

  Claire reached for her glass of wine.

  "You not been eating any meals this week then or what?" she asked him with a wink.

  Henry playfully threw his hands in the air.

  "Hey, I can't afford to eat out every day," he said. "Besides, walking across the street goes both ways, you know? We have donuts, wine, and cigarettes. You should stop by sometime."

  You can even tip me, Henry thought to himself, but elected not to say it.

  "Hi, kitty-kitty! How are you?" Claire blurted as Wilson walked into the room, helping to change the subject.

  "That's Wilson," Henry explained to her. "He's new in town, too."

  "He's cute," she said. "Come here, Wilson." Claire made some kiss noises and the cat jumped on her lap.

  "I guess he knows his name," Henry said.

  "Or he knows a good thing when he sees it," Claire countered. She began petting Wilson on the head and scratching his ears. It wasn't long before he was purring. "You don't seem like a cat-guy," she continued.

  "He earns his keep by scaring the mice. Living on a farm doesn't come without a price," Henry explained as he stood up and stretched.

  "You're a poet and didn't know it," Claire said, laughing.

  Henry thought about it for a moment before he realized what she was referring to.

  "I guess you're right," he said and chuckled. "Sorry. I'm a little slow right now. I had a long day."

  "You need to talk about it?"

  "I need to sleep."

  "Is that a hint?"

  "Just a fact, ma'am."

  The laughter the two continued to share proved they were becoming increasingly comfortable with each other. Henry sat down next to Claire again and began telling her about the evening's events. As he did, Claire listened intently. By the time he had finished the story her mouth was gaping, wide open.

  "So you have no idea what happened to him?" she asked.

  "I don't," Henry said.

  "You might've saved his life!" Claire exclaimed.

  "Well, there were other people there," he said.

  "Yes, but you said yourself they weren't being terribly energetic," she replied.

  Henry shrugged and yawned. He looked at the clock. It was twelve thirty. He needed to get some sleep, but he knew Claire had other ideas.

  "You had to touch—carry—his detached arm...pulled it out from the car? That's so...weird," she said.

  "I try not to make it a habit," Henry replied. By now Claire had finished her glass of wine and had almost consumed another. Henry was also certain she’d had a glass before she knocked on his door. Some liquid courage, so to speak. There was another short, uncomfortable silence before Henry finally spoke again. "I don't mean to seem rude, but I really need to get some sleep." Claire's eyes widened.

  "I came here for a reason," she explained as she slid closer to Henry. Wilson didn't appreciate the juggling. He ended his extended stay by jumping from Claire’s lap to the floor and returning to the bedroom. Henry knew what Claire meant, but elected to force it out of her.

  "I thought we established that already," he replied.

  "We did, but there's more," Claire began. "I need to tell you..." She looked down at the floor. "...that I am attracted to you." She finished the sentence by looking back up and into Henry's eyes.

  Henry smiled.

  "I'm flattered," he said.

  "But..." Claire said. Henry held his smile.

  "There's no 'but,'" he insisted.

  "You didn't say it back," she said.

  "You're not a patient person, are you?" Henry said without thinking first.

  "Who is?" Claire responded, leaning in and pressing her lips against Henry's. They held the kiss for a few seconds before Henry pulled back.

  "Was it that bad?" she said with a strained look on her face.

  Henry grabbed one of her hands and held it while placing his other hand just above her knee. He leaned back in. Not so much that she would expect another kiss, just enough that she would know he was serious.

  "Claire," he began, "I am attracted to you, too. I'm just not the kind of guy who takes advantage of situations." Claire raised an eyebrow at him. Henry went on to explain himself. "Rushing into intimacy is never a good idea," he said. "It complicates things."

  She smiled and leaned a bit closer to him.

  "I agree," she said, "that's why I'm perfectly fine with just making out." Claire placed her mouth back on his and this time slipped her tongue between his lips. Henry reciprocated, but only for a few seconds before pulling away.

  "Ok, ok," he said, "that's good, that's good."

  Claire gave him another perplexed look, as if to ask for another explanation. Henry obliged.

  "I can already tell you I enjoy kissing you. But Claire, I don't think right now, at this moment, is a good idea."

  She leaned back and let out a heavy sigh.

  "Rejected," she said.

  "How can you call this a rejection?" Henry asked. He had spent enough time around women to know the routine. But understanding them was a completely different story. This was getting ridiculous, and he was tired. Drained.

  "Claire," he said, moving closer to her. "Would you be willing to just lie here with me tonight?" Henry put his arm around her and pulled her closer. Claire placed her head on his shoulder.

  "Maybe," she answered.

  "Let's just slow things down," he told her. "There's no hurry." Henry kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like strawberries. He lingered for an extra second. They lay down next to each other on the couch, Claire on the outside, Henry behind her with his arm around her waist.

  "I still don't know anything about you," she whispered.

  "I don't know much about you either," Henry reminded her. "But since you've put yourself out there the way you have tonight, I'm willing to offer you something in return." He paused for a moment. "A while back I had a pretty good job," he began. "It paid well, provided good benefits, and had lots of flexibility. Life was pretty good. But something happened that changed my mind about all of it. Now I live my life day-to-day, paycheck-to-paycheck, more or less."

  "That sucks," Claire whispered. She pressed herself back against Henry.

  He gripped her tighter, his face in her light brown hair, until they both fell asleep. Henry's sleep was restless as he dreamed a cloudy haze of car accidents, missing body parts, and girls with raging hormones. At three thirty in the morning, he woke up. His body was stiff and sore from being in the same position for several hours. He eased himself over and out of Claire's grasp, lea
ving her to sleep comfortably on her own. He took the afghan and draped it over her before retiring to his bedroom.

  #

  At seven fifteen, Henry woke up to some mid-morning nuzzling from Wilson. When he looked at the clock, he bolted out of bed and beelined for the shower. As he left the bedroom he could see the couch was no longer occupied and the wine glasses were still on the coffee table. The half empty wine bottle remained on the kitchen bar. Henry wasn't surprised Claire had taken off. In fact, he was kind of glad. It would've been awkward pushing her out the door so he could go to work. But he did feel as though they had accomplished a slight breakthrough last night. For what it was worth, he was still uncertain.

  After taking a ninety-second shower, Henry dressed, filled Wilson's food bowl, and grabbed a banana before heading out the door. The sun was already bright in the sky when he pulled his car away from the farmhouse. There was little doubt that working all these hours was tiring. But he'd finally get twenty-four hours to himself this afternoon to do whatever it is he might want to do.

  As he drove to town, Henry found himself thinking more about Claire. It was clear to him there was more behind Claire's "don't tip me so much" rant. But pushing the envelope on such a thing last night could've been disastrous. She was certainly an aggressive young woman. But Henry also knew there was an underlying sensitivity about her. Or maybe that was just because she was a waitress and pretended to care too much—for tips. He wasn't quite sure yet, but the irony was not lost on him.

  Henry also wondered how poor Alan Walker was doing. It was crazy enough to untangle and carry a guy's severed arm around a crash site. But Henry couldn't imagine what it must've been like to be driving down the road without a care in the world and out of nowhere have an arm ripped from your body while being thrown from your car. He remembered reading once about a man who was mountain climbing alone. Somehow he ended up with his hand and forearm stuck under a rock. In order to free himself and survive, the man had to cut his own hand off. It was mind-blowing and nauseating to think about. Henry wouldn't wish something like that on his worst enemy.

  At seven fifty-five, Henry turned off Main Street and into the north side of the Corner Store lot. This area had become his personal parking spot. It kept his vehicle out of the customers' way and gave him easy access to head home when his shift ended.

  After getting out of his car, Henry began the short walk to the front of the store. When he turned the corner he was surprised to see Bruce's Explorer parked near the front door. On the other side of it was a Channel 6 TV news van. Henry looked inside the store before entering and saw Bruce talking to a female reporter and a cameraman. His boss spotted him through the glass and waved him in.

  V

  "Get in here, Hank!" Bruce exclaimed with a grin. "We've been waiting for you. It sounds like you had quite a night last night."

  Henry walked through the door and let it close behind him. The newswoman was holding a microphone and smiling at him while the cameraman pointed the big camera in his direction.

  "I guess I did," he agreed.

  "You probably don't know Balinda Simmons," Bruce explained. "She's with Channel 6 in Adler. And this is Craig with the camera. They heard about your heroics last night and wanted to talk to you about what happened."

  Henry raised his eyebrows. "Heroics?" he said.

  "Yes," Balinda Simmons piped up. "You saved a man's life!"

  Henry had never been a big fan of the news media. Most everything they reported seemed one-sided or at the very least slanted in a direction, probably to meet an agenda. Henry looked at Bruce and spoke, lowering his voice, "Can I speak to you for a minute, boss?”

  "Of course," he replied. After asking Balinda and Craig to wait outside, Bruce turned back to Henry. "What's up?" he asked.

  "I really don't want to be on TV," Henry explained.

  "What do you mean? This is great! You did an awesome thing last night—at least from what I understand. You should be proud of yourself!"

  This was going to be more difficult than Henry thought.

  "You realize I locked the store up during business hours to do this, right?"

  "That's the beauty of it all," Bruce explained. "Saving a guy's life was far more important to the Corner Store than making a few bucks!"

  For years Henry had operated under the assumption that the only things people cared about were themselves and how they could benefit, personally, from a particular situation. Bruce seemed no different than the rest of them.

  "It's just that I'm extremely camera shy," Henry explained, trying to sound as desperate as possible. "I passed out during a televised spelling bee in sixth grade."

  Bruce's arms were crossed and he was stroking his chin, trying to figure out how to cash in on this opportunity for his business. Henry really couldn't blame him. Owning a business had to be a constant battle of sleepless nights and bottled friends. Something like this could be good exposure for the Corner Store. It wouldn't make Bruce a millionaire, but it could bring a spike in sales for a few days. While the story was still fresh, people might travel an extra twenty minutes out of their way to get some gas for the chance to meet a real-life hero.

  "All right," Bruce said, "let's see what we can do about this. Stay here for a minute." He walked outside and over to the Channel 6 van. Henry could see him speaking to Balinda Simmons and her camera guy. As he watched their pow-wow, a customer strolled through the door for a cup of coffee and some donuts. Henry quickly went behind the register and handled the transaction. It was, after all, his shift.

  As the customer walked out, Bruce and the news duo walked back in. Craig still had his camera.

  "I'm hoping we have a compromise worked out here, Hank," Bruce said. He went on to explain that the news team would still like to interview Henry but would be willing to do so off camera, recording only his audio.

  "We'd really love to hear what happened in your words," Balinda explained with a hopeful look on her face. She was about five six with her heels on, blonde and attractive, with rosy-red lips. Henry succumbed.

  "I guess I can do that," he obliged.

  "Excellent!" Balinda clapped her hands together in excitement.

  "Is he ok?" Henry asked her. For a brief moment, she looked puzzled.

  "Oh, uh...yes, yes," Balinda said. "He was in surgery all night. They reattached his arm. So far everything looks to have been successful."

  "That's great to hear," he replied. At the time of the accident, Henry wasn't sure there was any possibility of Alan's arm being reattached, but going back to get it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't like Alan was in any condition to remember it.

  Balinda and Craig quickly set up their equipment and turned to Henry for the interview. She stood next to Henry while Craig adjusted audio levels.

  "I'm here with Henry Fields who is an attendant at the Corner Store in Gable. Henry was first on the scene of a one-car accident on Highway 57 around eight fifteen yesterday evening. Henry, can you tell us how things happened from your perspective?"

  Balinda Simmons thrust the microphone in Henry's face and he went on to tell his story. Bruce stood behind the counter and listened. When Henry was finished, the reporter spoke again.

  "Henry Fields, a true hero right here in small town Iowa. I'm Balinda Simmons reporting in Gable for Channel 6, Adler."

  "Clear," Craig reported.

  "Great. Thank you so much, Henry," Balinda said, holding her hand out. "You did a superb job for a man who doesn't like being on camera. Most people enjoy this kind of recognition."

  Henry returned the handshake.

  "Well, thanks," he replied. "I'm just not that interested in being a 'hero.' This was all quite a shock to me so early in the morning."

  "Well, you can thank Rose McNeely for the exposure," Balinda explained. "After she dropped you off here last night she went to the hospital to follow up on Alan, the victim's, condition. She couldn't stop singing your praises to the doctors and nurses, and word got back t
o us."

  Henry wasn't surprised. Rose had seemed like a very nice lady. He could've done without the attention, though. Was it really this difficult to stay off the grid, even in Iowa?

  "She was very helpful last night," Henry said, heading over to the cash register to take over his shift. Balinda and Craig thanked Henry and Bruce one more time before leaving the store.

  After finishing a transaction with a customer, Henry turned to his boss. "I'm really sorry about locking the store down last night," he told him. "I just reacted on instinct. I mean, it wasn't busy at all. But that's no excuse..."

  Bruce responded by patting Henry on the back. "I already told you, it's not a problem," he assured him. "You did a good thing last night. It was all for a good cause. You're a good Samaritan and you should be proud. I'm proud of you, Hank! So proud, in fact, that I'm going to pay you for your first week of work today when I come in at three. Sound good?"

  "Sounds great, thanks!" Henry said. Bruce really was starting to seem like a pretty good guy and boss, but it was still too early to tell for certain. Henry was always looking for signs.

  Bruce left Henry to his shift a few minutes later, giving him an opportunity to sit down and reflect. It didn't feel like he had slowed down much at all since hearing the car accident twelve hours ago. Rushing up the highway to help, thinking fast on his feet, riding with Rose towards the ambulance and then back to the store, finishing his shift, and so on. Sure, he made it to bed. Twice. But the quality of sleep was nowhere near up to par.

  Henry was emotionally exhausted more than anything. He hadn't been in town a full week yet and he had already helped a car accident victim, been interviewed on TV, bought a cat, and almost had sex. Certainly not under the radar, by any definition. He hadn't meant to get so involved. Responding to the car accident was by complete chance as was the unfortunate arrival of Balinda Simmons. It was simply in Henry's nature to help. Most people spend so much time worrying about themselves they rarely pay attention when an opportunity presents itself to help others. On the surface, Henry played the game with other people the way he should by being polite, complimentary, helpful, and interested in their lives. The problem was Henry could see through most people's crap. It drove him nuts to have to be phony himself to deal with a phony world. But the alternative was speaking his mind and becoming completely transparent. And that just wouldn't fly in most situations.