Daylight Savings

After fifteen years of service, the hotel waffle machine finally broke down in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Teresa, perpetually unable to sleep past 6 a.m., was the first to discover its demise. As was her custom, she had crept stealthily between the empty four-tops toward the machine to release the batter into a plastic cup, mix it with some cinnamon sugar, and pour it over the black cast-iron, hoping and praying that the slumbering Mr. Desmond wouldn't hear it sizzle. Only this time it didn't sizzle; the red light on the machine wasn't even glowing.

Groggily, Teresa followed its cord toward the row of toasters, where it was plugged snugly into the socket. She yanked it out, counted five seconds, and inserted it back into the outlet. She glanced at the machine. Still nothing. She probably wouldn't tell anyone. Oftentimes upon wiping down one of the rooms, she'd notice something was missing or broken or out of place, but would keep her mouth shut for fear of blame. Besides, she thought, it was the off season and one of the other cleaning ladies would notice it sooner or later.

The waffle machine had supplied her breakfast for the better part of a decade. She could count on two hands the mornings she hadn't eaten a cinnamon sugar waffle at quarter to six in the morning, and at least half of those absences were the three days spent in the hospital after the birth of her son, Rafael. She'd hate to see the machine go, especially since she knew Mr. Desmond probably wouldn't want to invest in a new one.

Upstairs in Room 205, little Rafa stirred, increasingly aware of the empty space on the other side of the bed. He knew his mama liked waking up early. Every day she'd return with a two waffles to find him in the twilight of sleep, the soft click of the door plucking him out of his dreams. He'd lean up against the headboard and munch on his breakfast, eyes half open and transfixed on SpongeBob SquarePants.

This morning though, he felt a small jolt of fear at realizing that he was entirely alone. Rafa had been left alone before, of course, but not for more than a couple minutes, not in the darkness. Ever since he could remember, Jacinta was there to watch over him during his mama's shifts and only left his side when Mr. Desmond asked her to help him with his computer. "Stay in the room, Rafa," she always instructed him, "or the hotel monster will come get you."

Rafa couldn't remember who had first told him about the monster, but his mama, Jacinta, and even Mr. Desmond had all recounted stories of their terrifying run-ins with it. He wasn't a gullible child by any means, but the tales still unnerved him.

He looked around the room and let his eyes adjust to the blue light of the early morning. In one corner, the laundry basket, nearly hidden under a heap of his mama's dirty uniforms and his own sweaters and jeans. For a moment he convinced himself that it wasn't just a pile of clothes, it was the monster stalking him, ready to pounce. But he knew Sunday was laundry day, which meant in the afternoon, he and Jacinta would venture to the basement to heave the dirty stuff into the washers and wait there playing hangman until they were finished. If she were in a good mood, Jacinta would hoist him onto the bounciest machine and let him sit there, pretending to be on an airplane or boat or roller coaster. Laundry days could be a lot of fun.

But then he remembered what his mother had told him last night: Mr. D would be watching him all morning while Jacinta took some sort of college test. Mr. D frightened the boy to no end. He wouldn't have minded so much if he were a normal guy, but he was very strange, and not in the fun way. Rafa was beginning to think he'd rather take his chances with the monster upstairs than endure an entire morning with the weird old man. He buried his face in a pillow and fell back asleep.

Teresa walked through the swinging door to the hotel's kitchen. It was lit only by the dull bulb above the stove, shadows of hanging ladles and sharp knives thrown across the walls. Surely she could swipe a couple bagels for herself and Rafael without the chef noticing. Besides, even if he did, it was unlikely he'd report it to the owner. The two had been more or less enemies since the industrial dishwasher broke, and instead of buying a new one, Mr. Desmond just hired his own poor nephew Danny to hand-wash dozens of plates and silverware every morning without overtime pay. Some days he was there into the early afternoon, fingers red and prune-like from the chemicals.

In the dry storage she flicked on the light and started rummaging through the wire shelves. Near the back where they kept the linens she spied a big, misshapen lump lying underneath a table cloth. Shiny black hair poked out the top. It only took her a moment to understand what she was looking at.

"Oh my god," she cried and swiftly made for the door empty-handed. Clutching her heart with her hand, she leaned against the oven and caught her breath. Suddenly she heard the whispered curses of the shiny-haired girl from within the dry storage.

"Tia, please, please don't tell anybody," Jacinta pleaded as she appeared in the doorway.

"Jaci, baby, I—oh my god, I thought you were dead," she cried, gathering her niece in her arms and kissing her forehead.

It wasn't until she pulled back from the hug that Teresa saw a shirtless Danny standing awkwardly behind Jacinta, scratching his hair and yawning. She stepped backward and looked knowingly from one to the other, putting two and two together.

"Please, Tia."

Teresa shook her head, slowly at first and then giggled and clicked her tongue at the two teenagers. The color drained from both their faces.

"I'm 29, Jaci, not 50. When I was your age, I did the same shit," she revealed.

Jacinta softened and looked up at her. Her braces sparkled behind her lips as a little smile broke across her face.

"I just hope you guys are being smart about things, okay? I'm serious."

"We are," Jacinta whispered, still blushing. "I promise we are."

A harsh knock on the door woke Rafa with a fright. The muffled, gravelly voice of Mr. Desmond called, "Rafael? Teresa? I'm here, good morning!"

Rafa kicked the covers off and shuffled across the floor. He swung the door open to find the man wearing checkered pajamas, towering above him. Funny, he thought, for an adult to wear pajamas, especially an adult like Mr. D. It disarmed the boy, who wondered silently whether Mr. D was actually also a child himself. Perhaps that's why he acted so strangely. Suddenly he didn't know what to believe.

Stepping aside to let the man-child in, Rafa said "My mama's not here."

"That's fine, it's nearly seven. She probably started work already," he replied.

"I guess so" he shrugged and climbed back on the bed to dig for the TV remote, wondering at the same time where his waffle was.

"Ah-ah, no TV this morning," Mr. D said firmly.

"Why not," Rafa pouted.

"We're going to play a game," he said plainly, locking the door to Room 205 behind him.

The shock of finding Jacinta sleeping with Mr. D's nephew wore off rather quickly. Of course, Teresa had more or less done the same thing at sixteen and believed that trying to shame her would only lead to more secrecy and perhaps worse clandestine behavior. Besides, with her father's drinking habits, the girl had enough to deal with at home. She deserved to feel good, to have some semblance of a life of her own.

It wasn't until she saw the broken waffle machine again that Teresa remembered she needed something to eat. Rafa likely wouldn't be awake for another half hour, she thought. Through the window she could see the Dunkin across the road and decided that would have to do. She'd surprise Rafa with a bagful of donut holes, and while imagining the smile on his face, she walked out the double doors into the cool morning.

Jacinta, with a bashful Danny trailing behind her, tiptoed past Mr. Desmond's sleeping quarters and into the front lobby.

"You want me to drive you to your SAT?" he asked. "I don't start for another hour."

"No baby, it's fine, it's only like five blocks."

"Then can I see you in the afternoon?"

"If you wanna hangout with Rafa, yeah," she replied. "I have him till four."

"Who's watching him this morning anyway?"

"Mr. D."

"Oh," Danny said and swallowed irregularly. "Is he really?"

"Yeah, just till noon."

"Alright, okay." He blinked rapidly. "So um, after that then?"

"Maybe, yeah."

"Okay. Good luck, babe." He gave her a kiss and pulled out his keys, heading into the misty parking lot toward his car.

Jacinta, suddenly hungry for a waffle, turned to head back to the kitchen, where she hoped her aunt would make one for her.

Coffee and donuts in hand, Teresa returned to find her niece furiously plugging and unplugging the waffle maker.

"Sweetheart," she said, "it's dead."

"Fuck."

"I know."

Jacinta scoffed.

"Here," Teresa said, holding out the bag of donut holes. "Take a few."

"Where's Mr. D at?" Jacinta asked with her mouth full.

"Still asleep probably?"

She glanced at her phone. "But it's 7:15 so he's gotta be up, isn't he watching Rafa today?"

"Wait, 7:15?"

"Girl, daylight savings, hello?"

Teresa flushed. She'd forgotten. Her shift started at seven and Mr. D was supposed to watch Rafa then, so he was probably already upstairs.

Driving back to his mom's house, Danny's mind refused to focus on anything but Rafa. His goofy laugh, his Paw Patrol pajamas, the way his smile gleamed without fail every time he saw Jacinta. He pictured Room 205 now with the boy sitting criss-cross on the bed, Uncle Desmond regarding him from the La-Z-Boy recliner.

The roads were vacant and the morning mist hadn't cleared. He felt somehow outside of time. Everything in Atlantic City depressed him. If it were up to Danny, he'd take Jacinta and leave the whole place behind. Part of him hoped a hurricane would come and wash the city away, hotel and all.

Something made him turn into the empty parking lot of his old elementary school, just around the corner from the house where after his father died, he spent every weekday afternoon under his uncle's watch. He got out of the car and leaned shivering against the door, unsure of how to feel. The light poles rattled from the wind as he zipped up his jacket. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about Danny. He took out his phone and called his girlfriend.

Jacinta was in the supply closet stocking the cleaning cart with toilet paper rolls to cover for Teresa, who'd just run upstairs to give Rafa his breakfast and apologize to Mr. Desmond for not being there when he arrived.

Her phone rang and she answered, setting it on the shelf.

"Danny?"

"Jaci," he began. She could hear the wind blowing in the background.

"Yeah?"

Nothing but the sound of cold air in the receiver.

"What, Danny? What is it?"

"I don't know."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just—"

"What's wrong?"

"Has my uncle watched Rafael before?"

"Once or twice, why?"

She heard him exhale with a shudder.

"Jacinta, you—" he said, and took a deep breath in, "you can't let him do that."

Teresa fearfully ascended the stairwell dreading Mr. Desmond's inevitable reprimand for leaving her child alone, and potentially even for waffle embezzlement. She tried to count all the times she'd wronged him. Perhaps for all these years he'd been aware of her secret breakfasts and been waiting for the right moment to condemn her in one foul swoop: bad mother, thief, lazy employee, the works. All those waffles added up, after all, and now that she thought about it, the machine probably wouldn't even be broken if it weren't for her greed.

Room 205 was locked, though, which was curious because she almost never locked it for her waffle runs. At most, they only ever took her twelve minutes. She fished around in her pockets for the key, hoping she'd remembered to bring it in case, but found nothing. She rapped on the door. "Rafa? It's mama, I'm locked out. Can you let me in?"

Just then, Jacinta appeared at the end of the hallway, running toward her with her phone in her hand.

"Where's Mr. Desmond?" she insisted, out of breath.

"I don't know, my door's locked."

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"Where's your key?"

"I didn't bring it with me." She knocked again, harder. "Rafael?"

"He's in there, Tia."

"I know and he's such a light sleeper, I don't get why he's not letting me in."

"No like," Jacinta said, "Mr. Desmond is in there with him."

"What do you—"

Jacinta blinked. "I'm gonna go see if he has a spare key."

"Jaci, what are you talking about?"

"Danny," she said tersely, "he told me everything."

Mr. Desmond finally opened the door to a frantic Teresa, his wide frame blocking the door. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Morning Teresa," he said faintly.

"Mr. D, what the fuck," the words trickled out of her mouth.

"Rafael fell asleep again after I got here at seven. He let me in and I assumed you just started your shift early. I guess I fell back asleep as well."

She pushed past him and looked around the room, a slice of sunlight peeking through the crack in the curtains.

"Rafa?"

"Hi mama," he said softly from beneath the quilt.

"Mijo, are you okay?"

"Yes, mama."

"I've got to run to my office for a sec," Mr. Desmond said, slipping out the door behind her.

From the school parking lot, Danny saw two police cars whirr down the main road. He called Jacinta back. "They're on their way."

She said nothing, only cried. Then he heard something else. Through the receiver he could tell somebody else was there, his uncle's deep voice.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Oh," Jacinta sniffled. "No, I was just—"

"You're not allowed in here, Jacinta."

"No, I was just like—looking for something." She sounded terrified, her voice breaking.

"No. Get out, now."

Then Danny couldn't tell if the sirens were over the phone or still down the road but there was a bit of shuffling through the speaker and he called out "Jacinta? Hello?"

And then his uncle again, "Daniel? What the hell did you tell her, Daniel?"

More voices, male, and suddenly Jacinta whispered, "Danny, please come back."

In the quiet of their room, Teresa and Rafa sat on the bed. "What happened?"

Rafa yanked the covers up to his chin and turned away from his mama.

"Rafa, please, you need to tell me."

"He said I can't."

"Rafa, if he did something—"

He pulled the sheet over his head.

"Mijo," she pleaded, "I need to know."

From underneath, he whispered, "he said the monster would kill me if I told."

Teresa had had enough. She tore the covers back and grabbed her son and sat him on the edge of the bed to look at him.

His pajama pants were on backward.

As soon as the officers entered the lobby, Mr. Desmond accepted defeat. His nephew had finally revealed everything. Somewhere deep in his psyche he'd known he wouldn't get away with it forever. His time had come and the handcuffs were tight.

As they escorted him away, he watched Daniel climb out of his car and the two of them locked eyes. The expression on Daniel's face was inscrutable, as though staring at a stranger he was supposed to recognize. He broke the gaze first and ran inside the lobby as the taller cop ushered the hotel owner roughly into the back of the cruiser.

Jacinta was sitting at one of the breakfast tables with her face in her hands, shaking with sobs, streams of sunlight lining her face.

"Hi," Danny whispered.

She looked up, startled, and crushed herself against his tee shirt. "Danny, I'm so sorry."

He remained silent, just brushing the back of her hair with his fingers until a few tears began to run down his face, then eventually more.

Teresa and Rafa came downstairs a minute later. A pair of remaining officers idled by the brochure stand in the vestibule and made their way over once they saw them.

"You have to go with the cops," Jacinta whispered to her aunt, wiping her eyes. "To the hospital they said."

Rafa sat down on the chair next to her and touched her hand. She squeezed it. "Why are you crying?" he asked her gently, which only made her well up again.

"Okay, yeah," Teresa said vacantly, watching the two officers. She wasn't crying, but the look in her eyes was distant and full of disbelief. Suddenly she remembered the bag of donut holes, but forgot where she had left them.

"Rafa," she said, and he stared up at her with his big brown eyes, "are you hungry, sweetheart?"

He nodded timidly.

"What do you want? You can have anything from the kitchen before we go."

He thought for a moment, blinking, then looked to Jacinta and Danny and the cops and back to his mama.

"Hmm," he began softly. "I think I just want a waffle."