Chapter 13

When Thule knocked on Marigold's front door Sunday afternoon, Jonas answered, coming outside and pulling the door shut behind him, "We're running a little bit late, I'm afraid. I got held up by some matters at church and that cascaded."

"No problem," said Thule. "How have you been, Jonas?"

"Busy," said Jonas, "Every free moment I can get, I've been talking to Artie McNamara. I'm trying to fix a lifetime of ignorance in a few weeks' time while planning a major corporate overhaul."

"Mac's working out then?" Thule asked. He'd taken a moment to remember that Artie McNamara was Mac, the IT expert Thule had recommended to Jonas.

"He's easily the most hated person in the company right now," said Jonas, "but he takes it with good humor. He seems a bit... paranoid, though."

"He's hyperparanoid," said Thule, "but, that's what you want for this. He'll come up with ways to ruin your business you never even dreamed of, then protect against them. Let's take a little walk."

"Sounds good," said Jonas, "I'm dying for a cigarette." He was already lighting up by the time that he reached the end of the path, "Do you know that the first serious conversations we had about the network was a lecture on why I needed to hire technological ombudsmen to watch what he's implementing, then not tell him who they were?"

Thule nodded, "That doesn't surprise me. Any risk assessment that doesn't include risks posed by the assessor themself probably isn't worth the paper it's written on."

"Damn," said Jonas, "this is so foreign from my way of thinking..."

"I know," said Thule, lighting his own cigarette, "happily, most people can go through their entire lives without really evaluating all the things their fellow man can do to screw them and, through the law of averages, avoid any major calamities born out of malice. Something like ninety percent of all companies get hacked one way or another every single year, usually by script kiddies using well-known security holes that have been patched up in the most up-to-date version of the kernel or software you're running."

"Something Artie says must be getting through," said Jonas, smiling broadly, "That almost made sense."

Thule took a long drag from his cigarette, "Did you memorize the information I gave you?"

"Yes," said Jonas, "would you like to quiz me?"

Thule considered it, "That won't be necessary. If you say you memorized it, that's good enough for me."

Jonas took another drag from his cigarette, then said, "I'm sure that took a lot of effort. You're dying to quiz me, aren't you?"

"Well," admitted Thule, "for the sake of thoroughness."

Jonas nodded his consent and Thule fired off his questions in a low voice, walking while he spoke.

"Hey," said Jonas in the middle of it, "we're getting kind of far away from the house. Maybe we should stop here."

"I'd rather not stop," said Thule, "but, we can turn around and head back."

Jonas nodded again, turning one hundred eighty degrees, "You want to keep moving. Why?"

"It's easier to eavesdrop on someone if they're stationary," said Thule.

Jonas spread his arms, indicating their surroundings. The woods had tapered away, leaving only a few scattered trees in a field of ankle-high grass and glacial boulders on either side of the road. It would be hard to hide a large housecat within a thousand feet of them, much less a person.

"Force of habit," said Thule, "We can stop if you're getting tired, sir."

"No," said Jonas, "I'm not... Wait a second. You just called me sir. You did that on purpose so I would want to prove that I wasn't so old that I'd get tired from a brisk walk. You devious, little bastard." He said the words with a sense of wonder, then chuckled appreciatively at the end. But, he still gave Thule a sidelong glance after he said it.

Thule laughed out loud, "There, there, sir. It's okay. We'll ring up your nurse and have her bring your medications. There's no need to get excited."

Jonas's response was explosively vulgar.

"See?" asked Thule, walking back towards the house, "I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone to hear you saying that."

-=-

After they got back to the house, Thule and Jonas stood on the porch, discussing a meandering variety of topics. A few minutes after the kitchen noise had died down, Holly stuck her head out the door, "Dinner's going to be ready in about five minutes if you want to wash up..." She sniffed the air, "Jonas, have you been smoking again?"

Jonas got a trapped look. Thule said, "I was smoking, Mrs. Tarr. That may be what you smell."

Holly wrinkled her nose. It was a gesture Thule had seen Marigold make many times. A few inches taller, a few more laugh lines, and hair a shade darker were all that kept her from being a dead ringer for her daughter, "Well," she sniffed, "go ahead and wash up. Dinner will be on the table soon."

"Thanks," said Jonas as she disappeared into the house. "Hey, why can't you ever lie to me like that to spare my feelings?"

"I didn't actually lie," said Thule, "I try not to very often. We'd better get washed up for dinner." So saying, he slipped inside the house.

-=-

Dinner turned out to look suspiciously like Christmas. Holly and Marigold brought out tossed salad, fruit salad, antipasto, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, biscuits, glazed baby carrots, and applesauce in wave after wave. Thule began to suspect that there must be more people coming. But, it turned out to be all for them.

When Thule commented, Holly just laughed, "Well, I suspect we'll have leftovers for a while. Most of the entertaining Jonas and I do is catered... not that I would want to cook for three hundred people. But, it does mean that Marigold and I don't get to do this very often."

It took about three questions for Thule to win Holly's enthusiastic support. Once she had established where he was going to college, what he wanted to do for a living, and what his father did for a living, she immediately started talking about weddings--not Thule and Marigold's specifically, but every wedding she had ever attended, heard about, or imagined. At least, that was how it started to sound to Thule. Even Marigold eventually rolled her eyes at Thule behind her mother's back after about fifteen minutes. Thule's most important qualification went unspoken--that he was not Elliot.

Reaching for the mashed potatoes, Jonas knocked over an empty iced tea pitcher, which rolled and skittered across the floor of the dining room and landed on the threshold of the kitchen. With a cry of "I'll get it," Holly chased after it.

"So," said Jonas into the conversational lull, a twinkle of mischief in his eye, "How exactly does what you intend to study at MIT lead to a career in software development?"

Thule smiled at Jonas. By the time Holly had returned to the table, he'd launched into an explanation of Bayesean mathematics, Hermeneutics, predictive analysis, object modeling, complex systems, fuzzy logic clouds and possible future directions of the field of software development. At one point, he thought he saw Holly roll her eyes at Marigold when he wasn't looking, but he wasn't sure.

"It sounds like you know quite a lot about the field already," opined Holly when Thule had run out of steam.

Thule nodded, "It's a bit of a hobby right now."

"Thule's too modest," said Marigold, "He's written some software based on all this stuff that's worth serious money."

"That's nice," said Holly. "And what is software again?"

Thule smiled, "Computer programs. And it being worth any money at all is entirely theoretical at this point. No one has made an offer to buy it as yet, so it's really more of an albatross than anything else."

Dishing herself another spoonful of mashed potatoes, Holly said, "Jonas, your company buys computer programs, don't they? Maybe you should take a look at this thing."

Jonas laughed, "I would, but I'm not sure I would understand it for looking at it. All of this computer stuff is still way over my head."

Holly gestured with the serving spoon, "It sounds like it would be perfect for your asset management division. I didn't get all of what you said, but isn't the whole point of this thing to predict how complex things are going to act over time?"

Thule didn't hide his surprise very well, "Err, why yes it is."

"Well," she asked, sticking the spoon back in the bowl of mashed potatoes, "What do people want to predict more than the stock and commodities markets? Have you tried modeling stocks or commodities with this program of yours?"

"Actually," said Thule, "I have."

"And, how did it do?" Holly asked.

"The sample portfolio did outperform the S&P," said Thule, "by a bit."

Jonas put down his fork, "By how much?"

Thule sighed, "By an anomalous amount. A year is much too short a time to test something like this. And, to be honest, I hate to talk about that aspect of it. Predicting the stock market makes it sound like I'm a snake-oil salesman, when I actually have a very useful predictive modeling tool with many more down-to-earth applications."

Jonas nodded sagely, "A very reasonable position. But, now you've piqued my curiosity."

Thule shrugged and took a bite of ham. When he'd finished it, he said, "The value investor portfolio I set up about sixteen months ago has so far outperformed the S & P by about thirty eight point two percent."

"Very respectable," said Jonas, "How does it work?"

"Fundamentally," said Thule, "you feed in as much data as you can about a stock--price history, market share, cost of raw..."

"Wait," said Jonas, "did you run any other portfolios?"

"A couple," said Jonas, "but not for as long or with as robust a source of information."

"How did they do?" asked Jonas.

"Better," said Thule.

"How much better?" asked Holly.

Thule's mouth felt dry, "I did one on REITs, which are real estate..."

"I know what REITs are," said Jonas, "They've been awful the last few years. You put together a portfolio of those that beat the S&P? By how much?"

"A little over fifty percent," said Thule, "but, these numbers really don't mean anything. The software doesn't replace the need for an expert to sort out useful information from garbage. It just gives the expert a useful framework to quantify and model the information they do have and make predictions based on hard numbers and historical modeling rather than gut instinct, I Ching, or technical analysis."

"Fair enough," said Jonas, "but, if you can set up a demo, I'd love to see it in action."

"Sure," said Thule, "but it's really meant for organizations with a more robust development department or any development department for that matter to get the full potential out of it."

Jonas nodded, "Great. We can talk about that in the office on Wednesday."

Marigold looked startled, "You two are working together?"

"Not really," said Thule, "I agreed to come in one day a week and help Jonas pick out computer people for his new IT initiative."

"Well," said Holly, "as long as that's settled, who wants pie?"

-=-

After pie, they all moved to the living room, which the dining room opened onto. While on the largish side, the room would not have looked out of place in any upper middle class home. The seating was arranged in a rough semioval around an upright piano and a TV stand. Jonas and Holly sat in easy chairs at one end, Thule and Marigold on a love seat on the other side, directly facing them. Marigold leaned against Thule, drawing her feet up onto the couch and, after sensing no objections, Thule laid an arm gently across her shoulders. Soon, she was dozing there.

The conversation had remained mostly banal, Thule answering questions about himself asked by Jonas and Holly. Knowing what he did about them, he found that there weren't many questions he could ask without leading them into uncomfortable territory. Fortunately, they seemed happy to interrogate him like any normal family would a daughter's new boyfriend.

"So," asked Holly. "how did you two get together?"

Thule froze for a few seconds. Before he could come up with a plausible story, Marigold said lazily, "It was so romantic. We've known each other since grade school." She sat up, "And he's always had a crush on me, but he never admitted it because I was with Elliot and he didn't want to muscle in."

Getting into the story, she leaned forward a little, "So, we were always working in the newspaper together. And we're finally getting to be friends. And, even though I complain to him about Elliot, he's just supportive and never says I should leave Elliot or indicates I should leave him or anything. Now, at that point, I just assume Thule is gay."

"Marigold," said Jonas, sounding shocked. He beat Thule to it by a split second.

"Well," asked Marigold, "What was I supposed to think? I knew there was something wrong with Elliot and I knew I wasn't happy with him, but here's my good friend Thule and he's completely clue resistant."

Thule could read in Jonas and Holly's faces that they were completely shocked by Marigold's performance. Considering the quiet and deferential manner he'd seen Marigold maintain around them, he had to admit he was a bit shocked also. Moving his body so that he could do so unseen, he nudged her hard with his elbow, but she was undeterred.

"So, this went on until I found out what a pig Elliot was. I was staying late at the newspaper office when I found out and I started crying. And, it's just the two of us. He's standing there, looking all awkward. Then, he just wraps his arms around me and tells me I deserve better. And, I say 'like who?' and turn my head up to face him..."

"And that's how it all started," said Thule abruptly.

"But," said Marigold, blinking, "I didn't tell them about the flowers yet or the ride home or..."

"I think your parents have heard enough," said Thule, his voice coming out a little strangled.

"Yes," agreed Jonas, "quite enough."

"I think it's romantic," said Holly, slapping him on the arm, "It's no worse than how we met."

Marigold looked up curiously, "I thought you met at one of my father's parties, in high school."

"That's the short form," said Holly.

"Holly," said Jonas, a tone of warning in his voice, "We agreed not to tell Marigold that story until she's older... and everyone involved has been dead for at least forty years."

"Older than eighteen?" asked Holly.

"Holly, please," Jonas said, his voice rising in a hint of panic, "it's really not appropriate." He looked imploringly at Thule, "I'm completely losing control of my house. Is this your doing?"

Thule looked innocent, "I..."

"You have to admit that it's romantic, though," said Holly.

"Yes, dear," said Jonas, resigned, "very romantic."

-=-

Later, when Thule had Marigold out on the porch alone, he kissed her forehead, "I suppose I should thank you for saving me. I just froze up. I didn't see that question coming and I didn't want to lie."

"Don't thank me," said Marigold. "I could have made it simpler, but I enjoyed watching you squirm."

"I should beat you," whispered Thule, laughing.

"Promise?" asked Marigold.

Before Thule could answer, the front door banged open and shut. Jonas came around the side where they were, "Thule, would you take a walk with me, please?"

There was something in Jonas's face that made Thule feel like there was a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. Marigold seemed oblivious. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, "Bah," she said, "As soon as you said you were working together, I knew you were going to have to talk business. I'll go get to work on my homework." As she skipped past Jonas, she kissed him the same way, "Don't keep him out too late. He has homework to do, too."

Thule's mind was in turmoil as they walked, in silence, up to the meadow they'd been at earlier in the day. It was near dark now. Jonas led him up to one of the glacial erratics, far enough away from the road that passing cars would not see them. The whole way, Jonas had smoked, lighting each cigarette from the ember of the last one. Thule knew where this was leading and wanted to get it over with, but kept his peace. He would do this the way Jonas wanted to do it.

Crushing out a half-smoked cigarette, Jonas leaned against the boulder, twice as tall as either of them, "Earlier this week," he said, "Marigold came to me, very upset about her old friend Maya, who she hasn't mentioned in three and a half years. Says Maya's all screwed up in the head and how she feels responsible for it. Eventually, I coax what I think is the whole story out of her. She tells me about how she used me to get Maya sent away and how she was responsible for Maya being raped in the first place, although that bit seemed pretty tenuous to me. The bottom line is that she wants to know if there's anything we can do to help Maya."

Jonas started pacing, "Then, I ask her how she found out about Maya's current dilemma and she clams up on me. Finally stammers out some lame story about getting an e-mail from Maya, even though I know she uses e-mail about as much as I do. So, why would she tell me about all these horrible things she thinks she's done, but not tell me how she knows. Then, I remember a conversation you and I had about why you want to get back at the Vandevoorts and it occurs to me that Maya must be your girlfriend that Randy Vandevoort raped. Am I right so far?"

Thule nodded grimly, "You've got it right."

"That's fine," said Jonas, "but it's still got me wondering why Marigold wouldn't just tell me that you told her what was going on with Maya. I must have come up with a thousand ideas, but none of them worked. So, it stays in the back of my mind to wonder why she would lie about how she got the information. Then, tonight, Marigold tells that story about how you two got together and I'm thinking, 'This doesn't sound like Thule. He's a real stand up guy and wouldn't just stand around being all chivalrous while Marigold is miserable with Elliot, particularly if this strong friendship is blossoming.' But, then I remember that, when I first realized you two were a couple, thinking that Marigold really hated you and chalking it up to the fact that, sometimes, love and hate look remarkably similar."

Jonas stopped and stared directly into Thule's eyes, "A real stand up guy, Thule," he said evenly, "Stop me if I start to get it wrong."

"No, sir," said Thule, "It sounds like you've got it all right."

Jonas hung his head in a gesture of ultimate fatigue, "Thule, you could have been like a son to me. Why?"

Thule felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't break eye contact. Miserably, he said, "Because she deserved it."

In the gathering darkness, Thule never saw Jonas' fist until it was inches from his face. He managed to turn only a little and caught it square in the left eye. He went reeling and then sprawling backwards onto the ground.

Standing over Thule in a boxer's stance, Jonas said hoarsely, "Get up. I'm going to kill you."

Reaching for the glacial erratic for leverage, Thule said, "All right." He dragged himself to his knees.

"What did you say?" Jonas asked angrily.

"I said, 'All right, '" answered Thule, "But, make sure you get the evidence in my safe to the people who can make use of it like you promised. It won't do much to Brianne, but it should be enough to make life unpleasant for Randy and Ivan for a long time."

"Thule," said Jonas, sounding annoyed, "When a man tells you he is going to kill you, you do not say 'all right.' You get ready to defend yourself."

"Sorry," said Thule, on his feet again. He raised his fists weakly, "All right. Come and get me."

Jonas tilted his head to one side, a look of exasperation on his face, "That's the worst defense I've ever seen. Now you're just trying to make me feel better about killing you." Reaching into one of his pockets, he brought out a clean, white handkercheif and handed it to Thule, "Your nose is bleeding."

Thule pressed the handkerchief to his face in approximately the right place. With the help of the boulder, he stood, watching Jonas warily. Jonas seemed spent, deflated. Even in the twilight, he looked about ten years older than he had at dinner.

Thule held the handkercheif to his nose, trying a new spot on the cloth over and over again until, when he pulled it away, he couldn't tell if he was looking at old blood or new.

"I think it's stopped," offered Jonas, who had brought out another cigarette and begun to smoke, "I haven't hit anybody in about twelve years. I... I'm sorry I did it tonight. But, you can be goddamned infuriating."

Thule nodded, "I know. I'm sorry--sorry I made you hit me, sorry for everything, but I know that doesn't mean anything."

"You really played me for a sap, eh?" asked Jonas.

"I was going to tell you," said Thule, experimentally standing on his own two feet, "Once it was all done."

Jonas stared at him, shock and disbelief plain in his face, "You crazy son of a bitch. You really were, weren't you? That's why you didn't want to ask me for any help or work for me or sell me that software you built--because you were going to tell me that Marigold was one of your targets of revenge. You crazy, goddamned son of a bitch."

Thule nodded, "You've always played straight with me. I thought I owed you the same courtesy."

"If you ever hurt her, I will kill you," Jonas said evenly. "That's not an idle threat."

"You have nothing to worry about there," said Thule, "I've already had my revenge on Marigold. She was never as complicit as the others. That's over now."

Jonas didn't speak for a long time. He stared off into the distance, smoking, until the cigarette burned down so far that it singed his finger, "So, then," he asked, shaking his hand, "what's all of this about? Why keep her around? Why eat of my bread and drink of my wine if you've already..." his voice trailed off.

"Believe it or not," said Thule, chuckling mirthlessly, "it's because I care about Marigold. I love... being with her. It's not an act."

Jonas lit another cigarette, inhaling thoughtfully, "If I knew what form this revenge on Marigold took," he paused, "I would probably have to kill you all over again."

"Probably," agreed Thule.

"So, you'd better not tell me," said Jonas, sighing, "Not ever. No matter how much your goddamned sense of honor demands it. Promise me that."

Thule smiled cautiously, "I promise."

"Let's go back to the house, then," said Jonas, "and face the music. I don't suppose you'd be able to come up with one of your bullshit stories that isn't quite a lie to explain why your face looks like that. Could you?"

Thule thought about it as they walked. Then, he said, "Marigold is working on her homework. Holly is probably doing the dishes still. I could just get in my car and leave, let you give them my apologies for rushing off."

"What about when Marigold sees that shiner tomorrow?" asked Jonas, "How will you explain it."

Thule shrugged, "I'll think of something. As far as you're concerned, I didn't have it when I left."

As they got to Thule's car, Jonas said, "I'll see you Wednesday, then."

"Yeah," said Thule, opening the door of his car, "Are we..."

"Okay?" asked Jonas, "No. I've got to protect my family. I can't forgive whatever it was you did. But, Marigold is happier with you than I have ever seen her. And the fact that she came to me about Maya... well, I find it encouraging."

"She really could use your help, sir," said Thule, "The last time I saw her, she really had gone off of the deep end."

Jonas barked a laugh, "You pick the damnedest time to ask for favors. I really did want to kill you back there, you know."

"I know," said Thule. He made no move to get in his car.

"Dammit," said Jonas, "fine. Find her. Tell her I'll help her however I can. I think you know the difference between help and throwing money at a problem, so I won't bore you with restrictions. Now, good night, Thule. Get out of her before I regret letting you live."

-=-

Despite all that had happened, it was barely nine o'clock when Thule pulled into the town square. With the warm summer night, a few dozen of his classmates had gathered around the big fountain at the center of the Mannsborough town square.

Thule wished that he still had enough hair to hide the shiner better, but was forced to rely on the interplay of light and shadows and the speed at which he moved to hide it from anyone watching. Getting out of his car, he thundered across the square towards the fountain. People gave him a wide berth on either side.

By the time he reached Elliot, standing at the fountain, talking to Dawn and another girl, he'd built up quite a head of steam. Elliot had half-turned to see what the commotion was, so Thule wound up punching him square in the ear. His momentum carried them both into the water of the fountain.

Obscured by the falling water, Thule rained body blows and head shots on his already stunned opponent, screaming profanities at his the whole time. Elliot never even got a blow in before he was pummeled into semi-unconsciousness. Then, Thule dragged him into the shallows and pushed his head underwater. Elliot struggled feebly.

By now, they had gathered quite a crowd. From the front, Randy Vandevoort jumped in and pulled Thule off of Elliot. Taking their cue, several other football players and hangers-on moved to separate the two and get Elliot to his feet. Thule, for his part, kept screaming, "I'll fucking kill you."

"Take it easy," Randy said quietly, close to his ear. "If you kill him with all of these people watching, I can't help you."

Thule relaxed, both on cue and stunned by the full context of the statement. He let himself be pulled away.

"Someone is bound to have called the cops by now," said Randy. "We need to get away from all these people so I can talk to them. Walk casually over to the benches in front of the bookstore. I'll meet you there.

Thule did as he was told. The benches were big cement squares with seats cut into all four corners. Thule wanted to get up over the bench and sit on top of one of the squares. It would mean that Randy would need to crane his neck or stand for the entire conversation. It would also allow him to put the bookstore's bright tungsten lights at his back, meaning he would be a silhouette to anyone sitting at street level. It took him three tries, but he finally managed to scramble up to it.

When Randy showed up a few minutes later, trotting along on foot, he drew a six pack of beer out of a paper bag. He looked up at Thule, "What are you doing up there?"

"Sitting," said Thule sagely, "from here, I can see people approaching from a long way away."

"Man," said Randy as he handed Thule up a beer "that's a hell of a shiner you got there." His voice was slurred, suggesting he was far past his first beer of the evening.

"Yeah," said Thule, touching it tenderly with the back of his hand, "He got a lucky shot in."

"Man," said Randy, sitting down on the bench part of the next cube over, exactly where Thule had hoped he would, "I wasn't sure about you, but you are one crazy motherfucker. That was some righteous vengeance you laid on that little faggot."

Thule smiled, revealing a few bloodstained teeth, "I'm all about righteous vengeance."

"That faggot messed with the wrong guy when he started with you, didn't he?" asked Randy.

"You keep calling him a faggot," Thule said, checking his eye for tenderness and wincing, "Do you mean like punk-ass little faggot or like faggot faggot?"

Randy looked around for eavesdroppers, then stood up to stand as close to Thule as he could before saying in a stage whisper, "I mean like dick-sucking, taking-it-up-the-ass faggot. He's sucked half the dicks on the team."

"He ever suck yours?" Thule asked.

"Shit," said Randy. "It's not like that. I'm not gay, but..."

"But," filled in Thule, "when it's a little bitch like that, what difference does it make?"

"Like I said," offered Randy, "you are all right."

One of the police cars, which had been gathering around the fountain since a few minutes after they'd left, began to crawl over to where they were sitting, its red and blue lights flashing silently. Randy paid no attention to the approaching car, so Thule pointedly ignored it too.

From the angle the police car had pulled in at, Randy was obscured by his bench. Thule was clearly visible. As the officers approached, he raised his beer to them in a toast, "Good evening, officers."

The younger of the two cops, who Thule recognized dimly as having been a senior when Thule was a freshman laid his hand gently over his gun, "Can you put the beer down and come down here, please? We need to talk to you."

Thule put his beer down as if he had meant to all along and swung his legs down to drop onto the bench. As he did so, Randy stood up unsteadily. Thule saw the older officer reach for his holster and go into a defensive crouch, ducking into the cover of the patrol car.