Threshold

by Sean Platt

  “Probably,” she said. “Want to come with me?”

  Scott thought about what he wanted, and what he should say. Hazel wanted him to go with her, and it would be good for them both if he did. If she could guarantee no mentions of Holly’s supposed ghost, he’d be thrilled to leave the house and explore the grounds, but he didn’t feel equipped to deal with her attention-seeking lies.

  “Yes, I’d love to, but—”

  “You have to look for Hudson.”

  “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. I think he needs to blow off some steam. That’s fine. We’ll let him. But you’re right, I don’t really want to go exploring until after that’s settled. If that’s all right with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on.” Scott rapped his knuckles on the table. “Let’s go and find something to read.”

  He stood and held out his hand for Hazel. She looked, considering the offer.

  There was a time that she’d never leave him open-palmed. But she’d withdrawn in the last six months, and he felt rejected. It was as if whatever had frosted between himself and Holly had spread to his relationship with his children. He flashed back to one of many occasions when Holly had said he was broken, and after one particular argument when she said he wasn’t worth fixing.

  He wondered if he could be fixed. Or, more importantly, if he could fix the broken relationships with his children. If ever there was a time to try, it was now. But he had to be patient and not surrender to his worst urges, as he’d done with Hudson just moments before.

  Hazel had been looking at his hand for no more than a few seconds, but it felt like forever. Then she finally took it and smiled. Scott’s heart swelled as they began walking.

  “What do you think of the manor?” he asked as they entered the library.

  “I told you, I’m glad we’re here.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. I mean the manor itself.”

  She stopped walking and looked up at Scott. “What are you asking, Dad?”

  He was trying to ask Hazel about the house without her bringing up Holly.

  “I’m just … surprised by how natural it feels here. It’s weird to say, but it’s almost like we belong.”

  “I think it’s because of Mom.”

  And there it is.

  Stupidly, Scott said, “What do you mean?”

  “I think you can feel Mom because she spent time at the manor. It’s like how you leave your fingerprints on stuff even if you don’t mean to. I think feelings are probably like that.”

  “What else do you think?” Scott swallowed, almost afraid of Hazel’s answer. But if he was going to fix things, he needed to listen to her, no matter what she had to say.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want me to think you’re making things up?”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m making things up.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t lie and say I believe something I don’t. That’s not fair to either of us. But I want to be open-minded, and for you to know it’s fine if you’re making things up and don’t even know that’s what you’re doing. We all do stuff like that. We all have our own ways of coping with Mom being gone.”

  Scott could feel her need for him to believe her. He kneeled, squeezed her hands tighter, and looked into her eyes. “You know what, honey?”

  “What?”

  “I want to hear what you have to say, Hazel. Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  After a long silence Scott felt her fingers flex inside his, hoping after he offered to hear whatever she had to say that she wouldn’t bring up Karla again.

  Anything but that.

  She cleared her throat. “I think that when we leave feelings behind, parts of ourselves can go back to those places. Like we leave stains, and our souls can go from stain to stain, like they’re jumping from puddle to puddle. That’s why I think it’s good that we’re here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think Mommy might have left stains behind while she was here, and can use them to come back. Even if she’s dead, I think here, in the manor, that doesn’t matter.”

  Scott didn’t know what to say. Did she really think that Holly could come back from the dead? Or was she just making things up to cope?

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, Hazel.”

  “Do you think Mommy will find us?”

  “I do,” he lied.

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  After reading with Hazel, Scott searched the grounds for Carter, but couldn’t find the caretaker in any of his usual spots.

  The old man is always lurking around, all up in our business, but the one time I need him, he’s vanished without a trace. What the hell?

  Scott was hesitant to leave the grounds in search of Hudson — an excursion that was now overdue — without checking in with Carter first. He had to find the old man, let him know he was leaving, locate Hudson, drag the boy back to the manor, then go out and explore the grounds with Hazel as promised. But as time kept ticking, Scott suddenly felt stupid for needing to check in. It wasn’t like he owed Carter an explanation. He was an employee of the estate, not Scott’s father.

  Yet he did feel an obligation, almost as if this weren’t their house, as if they were guests and owed it to Carter (who’d been here forever) to explain what was going on.

  Suddenly, just as Scott was about to give up, he heard Carter’s laughter coming from the kitchen.

  He entered the kitchen and found Carter chatting with Garza and Jacquelyn. As the door swung closed, Carter’s face brightened. Scott wanted to ask Garza and Jacquelyn why the hell they were shooting the shit with the old man when both knew that Scott was looking for Carter. Both had promised they’d let Carter know when they saw him.

  “Mr. Dawson! What can we do for you?” Carter’s smile was so warm, its return was inevitable. So wide and genuine, it was as if every cell of resentment swelling Scott’s last forty-five minutes turned to mist.

  “I’m glad you’re in here,” Scott said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Concerned wrinkles creased Carter’s brow. “Is everything okay?”

  He didn’t want to go into details, or concern Carter that Hudson might be unhappy with their arrangement.

  “Just some teenage drama, nothing to worry about.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving the grounds to look for Hudson.”

  “Oh my! You mean he’s not here? Where’s Hazel?”

  “Right now she’s in the library with a stack of books, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, and don’t really know where I’m going. I figured you should know that Hudson’s not here, and that Hazel’s by herself. Can you have someone look after her until I get back?”

  Carter nodded. “Well, I’d love to get to know the girl a bit better. Whip smart, that one.”

  Scott laughed. “That she is.”

  “Between me and Jacquelyn, we’ll keep your girl plenty busy, and annoyed, with old-folk jibber-jab.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jacquelyn said. “I’m plenty young still.”

  “Sure are,” Garza whistled.

  Everyone laughed, Scott included.

  Carter went to Scott and put a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Hudson. He’s just doing what boys need to do. He probably went into town to check things out. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. All the same, I’d suggest having Johnston drive you into town. Hudson could get lost after all. Last I saw him, he was waxing Alastair’s Gullwing, now your Gullwing I suppose — a beautiful car, she is.”

  “Thanks,” Scott said, then went to the garage.

  Johnston waved at his approach. “Well hello, Mr. Dawson!”

  The driver was doing exactly what Carter had said he would be: waxing Alastair’s old Mercedes — a beautiful car, indeed, colored a silver that shined like i
t was still in the showroom.

  “Hi there, Johnston. How are you?”

  “Just fine, Mr. Dawson. Just fine. Did you need to go somewhere?”

  “Yes, but I don’t need you to drive. I was wondering if I could take one of the cars?”

  “Well, of course, Mr. Dawson. I can’t think of a reason why not. Way I understand it, they all belong to you anyhow.”

  Scott nodded, working hard to keep his eyes from the grass. “Thank you. Would you mind showing me around? Tell me where the keys are — you know, stuff like that?”

  “Of course, Mr. Dawson.” Johnston led Scott to a second garage, much larger than the first. He pulled a small black disc from his pocket and pointed at the paneled wall until it parted from a seam in the middle. He pointed. “You can drive anything in there.”

  The second garage held a gorgeous fleet of old and new vehicles: an SUV, a roadster, a pickup, two sedans, a motorcycle, and what looked — inexplicably — like some sort of small flying machine. Scott chose a Toyota Tundra, thanked Johnston for the keys, and pulled out from the garage onto the long cobbled road, winding down from the manor, through the gates, and out into the real world.

  Scott didn’t see much more than trees as he drove. A few rich people’s houses, alongside relatively modest homes, a small church, a large graveyard, and then eventually he had the Tundra spitting gravel down the center of an old road with faded paint.

  Scott parked in front of a small post office, got out, and started to walk along the quaint shops down Main Street, figuring that was where Hudson had gone. He couldn’t imagine him wandering in the woods, though that would be the first place Scott would look if Hazel had gone from the manor. Hudson would probably head straight for wherever he might run into other kids his age. He could see his son wanting a chance to start over with peers who didn’t know who he was or where he’d come from.

  That was Scott’s primary concern with Carter’s homeschooling scheme. He liked the proposition in concept, and believed the old man when he promised that the children would learn better with one-on-one instructors, and that individualized curricula would easily eclipse the state’s best schools, but Scott also thought there was something (or many somethings) to be said for regular socialization.

  In a way, Scott was glad that Hudson had stormed off, especially if he found him with other kids. It meant he still cared about normal teenager stuff and wasn’t as withdrawn as he often seemed. Scott walked a few blocks down Main Street, until too many stares prickled his skin. He felt unreasonably certain that every eye knew who he was and where he now lived.

  Scott kept walking, telling himself that no one was looking and he was just being stupid. He reached the end of Main Street, crossed to the other side, then turned and headed back the way he’d come, planning to investigate the general store at the corner, then the gas station on the other corner, and see if maybe either clerk had seen Hudson. If yes, hallelujah. If no, he’d get in the Tundra and keep searching.

  Though he tried to avoid it, Scott’s walk turned his thoughts to Hazel and the night before when she had asked impossible questions about things she shouldn’t know. He wanted to dig further, to find out why she’d really asked about Karla, but the topic was difficult to raise without him having to explain what had happened with Karla.

  Clearly, Hazel had been sleepwalking, and in her sleep had dreamed of her mother. That was the only logical explanation. But how had she come up with Karla? Maybe she’d overheard one of their arguments and remembered the name, even without knowing the context. And perhaps she dreamed of Holly saying to ask him about her.

  That had to be it.

  Scott thought back to how he’d lied when Hazel asked if he thought her mother would find them.

  Yes, he’d said, because it was the most expedient way to get her back to sleep.

  Scott felt awful for lying and feeding Hazel’s delusions. He wished he could believe that Holly was coming back, but hell, he wasn’t even sure she could. Because in the deepest dark of night, when he was in bed all alone, he felt that she had to be dead. Worse, he feared they’d never find her body — a mystery forever unsolved, a hole left in his heart, and in his family, never to be mended.

  But on other dark nights, he faced another fear: that Holly was alive, and that his affair had pushed her away. That it was his fault his children would never see their mother again. This was her way of punishing him.

  He hated not only that he’d betrayed his wife, but that he might have turned someone so pure as Holly into someone capable of such hate and anger as leaving their family behind without a word of explanation.

  The least she could’ve done was leave a note on her way out the door. Scott could accept the blame, accept the punishment, even if he didn’t feel like the children deserved it. He could accept anything if he just knew.

  But not knowing was an emotional limbo where he didn’t know where to put his feelings about any of this.

  He thought they’d gotten past Karla. It had been more than a year since Holly had found out about the affair, and while there were still issues in their marriage, they’d found a way to move on. But maybe Holly hadn’t really forgiven him. Once the ties of fidelity were severed, trust was impossible to weave back into place — apparently on either side of the marriage.

  More than anything Scott wanted — needed — to see her again, to hear Holly’s voice, even if it was to tell him he was a bastard and she was never coming back. He craved closure, and in that way was jealous of Hazel, who (whether in her own head or not) was able to see her mom whenever she wanted.

  Sometimes Scott wished he had Hazel’s blind faith. But faith isn’t practical. It’s only a disappointment waiting to happen.

  If Holly was alive, or even if she actually existed in some ghostly form that was visiting Hazel, he needed her to know he was doing his best for their children.

  Holly was a natural at mothering from Day One. It had seemed like some sort of cruel trick of fate then that Scott was the one who became the full-time parent. Not that they had much of a choice. He’d lost his business as hers was soaring. Each did what they could, but there was no arguing truth: Holly was better at parenting and making the money.

  Scott had been jealous, but only in the way that one lover can envy another. Mostly he was proud, and committed to be a better parent because of her. It wasn’t easy, but with Holly at least it was usually fun. He’d always enjoyed their “parent meetings” each Sunday night, when they would bitch about the children over goblets of pinot. He appreciated them then, and missed them desperately now.

  How could things go so wrong?

  Life in general had failed to deliver the ample promise he and Holly had felt when first saying, “I do.” When they married in 2001, a year before Hudson was born, the world was different, and somehow more beautiful: Greener grass, bluer sky, and, as Holly had said, “Every day has the chance to be our new favorite.” Flowers bloomed, life was roses. Scott graduated from California Polytechnic and became an architect, like he’d wanted to be since he was a boy, before knowing he’d hate it. Holly said he was born to be a contractor while he was still paying tuition, and wasn’t disappointed in the least when he quit Clancy & White after only two years, abandoning a substantial salary regardless of loans that hung heavy like dark, rolling clouds.

  Holly said they could do it and did. Scott was born to be a contractor. Business boomed almost immediately. Though not a dreamer, he followed Holly, who never stopped believing in him or herself. She was an interior decorator, and a damned good one. She blended old with new because she said one of the fastest routes to a boring room was getting stuck in a style or period.

  Like Scott’s contracting company — Scott Dawson, LLC — Holly’s company, Dawson Design, was booked solid its first year. The Las Orillas Gazette called her “a revelation!” The Times agreed, and life was great.

  They bought a house and made two babies, four wonderful years apart.

  He never sho
uld have succumbed to Karla.

  Everything, Scott was certain, would be different if he hadn’t.

  I’m so sorry, Holly.

  Scott stepped inside the store and approached the counter as the door closed behind him.

  * * * *

  HUDSON

  As they walked to Horse-Face Josh’s home, Hudson could hardly take his eyes off of Iris. Yet, with her brother circling them on his bike, and Josh walking beside her, he had to be careful not to creep on her too hard.

  Hudson hoped that life at Galloway Manor came with an allowance. He’d use every cent to buy some alone time with Iris. Every second softened her features and made him want her more. He was having a hard time walking beside her and not picturing her face on all the nude women he’d seen online, the only place he’d seen an actual naked girl.

  Hudson forced the images from his mind as they ambled toward Josh’s house. The cyber pics felt wrong, insulting, and a pale imitation to the real beauty walking beside him.

  After knowing Iris only for moments, Hudson knew she was special. He could tell by her smile: She was the sort of girl everyone liked, but that no one found intimidating because she made the world around her more positive. She seemed like the sort of girl who held open doors for people behind her, and said thank you more often than not. Her sweetness seemed especially sexy because of her sarcastic grin and naughty blue eyes that twinkled beneath raven hair.

  He wanted to know everything about her. It was like she knew a secret he’d give anything to discover. But he had to intersperse conversation with the two guys so as not to only seem interested in Iris.

  She waved her hands in front of her a lot while speaking, and kept them by her sides while she walked. She met Hudson’s eyes when asking a question or listening to his response, and despite her brother and Josh seeming to curse every other word, she remained relatively demure, swearing only for punctuation. When Brian accused her of having ADD she countered, “I don’t have attention deficit disorder. I have Your Shit Isn’t Interesting Enough to Pay Attention to Disorder.”