Free Lovely, Dark, and Deep by Julia Buckley Page B

course, and the walkway properly salted. I was able to march with confidence to the doorway, which I traversed into a cavernous building which was, as I'd thought, a giant garage. To my right was a long cement area housing many village vehicles. The snow plows were parked nearest the door for ready access, but all sorts of things were parked toward the back: wood chippers, lawn mowers, street cleaners, and various large vehicles I didn't recognize. The whole place smelled like gasoline and tar.
    One of the large garage doors opened suddenly, letting in a bit of light, and a salt truck pulled into a vacant area, parked, and stopped rumbling. A man in a down vest, blue jeans and knee-high boots jumped out; he walked past me, belching gently into a fist held against his mouth, never once looking my way, and entered a room to my left. I followed him, not only because he was the only human I'd seen, but because I could hear the deep reverberations of male conversation. I went to the doorway, on which a little sign said “Break Room,” and stood there momentarily, trying to pick out Jeremy Yardley. The talking stopped, and about fifteen men, seated at picnic tables that were crammed into a rather small space, stared at me with various levels of interest. Someone let out a wolf whistle, and I'm sure I blushed twelve shades of red as I pretended that I hadn't heard it. “I'm looking for Jeremy,” I said into the silence.
    This brought on lots of catcalls and other sophomoric behavior, including a few guys yelling “Oooh, Jeremy,” like we were all in a high school cafeteria. I guess some things never change. The man who stood up looked vaguely pleased by all the teasing, as if somehow their attention made him cool. While he walked toward me I took quick note of the unclean nature of the room and the people in it. One large man stood up, grabbed a newspaper, and told the room at large that he was “going to the can,” whereupon he disappeared behind a grungy looking door in the corner. I winced inwardly and looked upon the young man who now stood before me.
    “I'm Jeremy,” he said, offering his hand. I shook it. It was surprisingly large, and his handshake was firm. “Do you mind if we sit at the table? I only have about fifteen minutes to finish my lunch.”
    I nodded. “No problem. I'll ask, you eat.”
    Jeremy approached the table with the least amount of people. Two men sat there smirking at us. “Get the fuck out,” Jeremy said good-naturedly to them. “I've got an interview with this pretty lady reporter.”
    “Eat me,” one said, placidly taking a bite of his sandwich, but in a moment they surprised me by gathering up their lunches and moving to a different table. The one who hadn't spoken cast a final glance at me before he plopped himself down in his new location.
    The room was warm; I took off my jacket and set it on the seat beside me, suddenly nervous. I had the premonition that Jeremy wouldn't want to talk.
    “God, you'd think these guys worked in Alaska,” I said to my lap as I dug for my notebook in my purse.
    “Oh, yeah.” Jeremy laughed, a pleasant sound. “They're a bunch of sex-starved assholes, I have to say. It's because they have no concept of how to treat a woman.” He said it with the superior tone of a man who didn't suffer from that malady.
    “That's not a problem for you, huh?” I asked with a smile.
    Jeremy shook his head. “I got married five years ago. My high school sweetheart. She's got no complaints, that I know of.” He smiled with simple, almost endearing, egotism.
    I imagined Jeremy had been quite a catch in high school. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and a mysterious, brooding expression that girls just love. He was probably thinner then; now he was bulky with the muscle that his job required, but his face still retained a certain sensitivity. I watched him take a huge bite of his sandwich, then jotted down the fact that he was married.
    “What's your wife's name?” I