Here’s a new story about a vacation that goes wrong. Enjoy!

A Day at the Beach

Thirteen-year-old Michael Robles could only remember his family vacationing close to home. One summer they went to Bass Lake, where mosquitoes, thick as campfire smoke, orbited his head and feasted on his blood, and another summer they vacationed at Aunt Daisy’s home in San Jose. The grown-ups got the extra bedroom and the kids—he, his little brother Marcos and his then baby sister Kimberly—slept in a tent in the backyard.

“See, it’s like camping,” his father had argued as he carried the two blankets into the tent, and provided water in a used Gatorade bottle. For a snack, he gave them each a candy bar. They ate the candies right away, left the wrappers near their sticky hands, and drifted to sleep. When they woke before daylight, they discovered ants scurrying from their hands and down the length of their arms. They had gone to bed sticky and woke up screaming. Was this vacationing?

That was three years ago. They had skipped vacationing and now life had suddenly become good for them. Their father had worked his way up at Office World from stocker to manager in a white shirt and a clip-on tie. He had started the job with a bunch of keys clanging on his belt, but now he had only one key: it opened the front door. His employees carried the rest of the keys. His photo was put on the wall: Regional Manager of the Month. Because of his hard work, Mr. Robles won a three-day stay at a resort in Half Moon Bay.

Michael searched the Internet to find out about Half Moon Bay. There was the ocean, and some rocks overlooking the ocean, plus tide pools, sea lions and whales. But what else was there to do? He had hoped for a vacation at Disneyland, or at Six Flags, where he could go on rides and get off wobbly. He would later report to his friends, “Ah, man, you should have gone on ‘Death Drop.’” But he wouldn’t complain. He loved his father and knew better than to make a face. He remained quiet on the matter, and on the day of their trip joined his brother and sister in the back seat. Around his neck hung binoculars purchased from Mario’s Second Look Thrift Shop.

Michael debated whether the binoculars were a true value. The right lens was scratched, and something rattled inside, like dice. Still, he figured that if they were going to Half Moon Bay, he had to see the whales. It wouldn’t be as exciting as falling thirty stories in ‘Death Drop,’ but he could tell with his friends at school that the whale, the largest mammal in the world, was so close that he could touch it.

The drive from Fresno to Half Moon Bay was three hours and fourteen minutes, this according to his nuclear-balanced, solar-powered wrist watch. This was a six dollars bargain from Mario, who raved that the watch would last longer than time itself because of its solar nuclear power and genuine Kangaroo-leather band. When Michael shook the watch, something rattled inside just like the binoculars.

But Michael was impressed with the resort perched on a cliff like a castle. He was impressed when a man drove their car away and a uniformed man took their baggage on a cart. It looked fun pushing the cart, and in his giddiness of being somewhere so fancy Michael considered hopping on and riding it like surf board.

Michael watched his father tip the man who pushed the cart, and watched him tip the man who opened the door to their suite.

“Enjoy your stay,” the man chimed. “The suite has a coffee machine, a bar and convenient snacks.” He gestured to the small cabinet with canned sodas and snacks. “Oh, yes,” the man continued as he strode over to a panel of buttons on the wall. “The curtains are automatic.” The man pressed a button and the curtains magically started to part—the ocean appeared, gray as slate and with sunshine riding the waves. In the distance, there was a ship and a small island barely visible to the naked eye.

Michael immediately lifted his binoculars and adjusted for sight: the island seemed bare and scratched. He disappointedly lowered his purchase from Mario’s Second Look Thrift Shop.

After the door closed, Michael watched his brother and sister scurry around looking at the two large rooms. They were excited to find that this “sweet” had two bathrooms, two televisions, two views (one of the parking lot and the other of the ocean), two large beds, and two large sofas. Even his mother was keen on the two-room suite. She seemed happy, and had immediately put on a fluffy white bathrobe.

“You look like a princess,” Kimberly remarked.

“Dad, this place rocks,” Marcos quipped.

Michael peeked into one of the bathrooms, and had to agree with Marcos: the place had a large Jacuzzi, one that could fit all the kids on their block.

"Dad, this place is sweet.” He observed the carpet and its vapory smell of newness. “We’re like royalty.”

“Nice digs,” his father replied as he tossed the suit cases onto the bed. He sat on the bed and had the look of a man who had arrived in life. But he quickly dished out warnings.

"Now I don’t want you guys goofing off.”

Marcos and Kimberly sang, as in choir, “We won’t.”

Michael was going to make sure they weren’t going to ruin this place. Though he was only thirteen, he sensed that he had matured. Sure, Disneyland or Six Flags offered scary rides, but Half Moon Bay offered nature. He promised himself to keep an eye on Marcos.

Bundled up in sweaters, for the sun had disappeared in fog, the family strolled on the beach. The kids collected rocks, dragged seaweed, played tag with the waves—their shoes got wet and made their mom scold them. But their father came to their defense.

"Honey, they’re only kids once.”

“Thank God,” mother said. “But if you guys drown, I’m going to get really mad.”

“We promise, we won’t,” Marcos exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure they behave,” Michael added.

The father and mother walked behind, hand in hand, their pant legs rolled up. Mother squealed when an oncoming wave licked at her ankles.

Michael couldn’t help but think they looked cute. He felt a strong bond with his father. He had worked hard, saved, and used such tactics as purchasing used cars with low mileage. True, at times he was demanding, a dad who expected Michael to take care of the younger ones. Now Michael could see the wisdom of this. In some regards, he was the manager of Marcos and Kimberly, and even had the responsibility of carrying around a key. His father had trusted him with the third room key—a plastic card that fitted into the door and made a green blinking light to enter.

The three kids ran ahead, and stopped to look in wonder at a dead “thing.”

“What is it?” Marcos asked.

A jelly fish, Michael fathomed at first.

“It’s ugly—yuck,” Kimberly cried, her upper lip pulled back in a snarl. She scooted a step back, a finger in her mouth.

Michael leaned forward and aimed his binoculars at the dead thing. He thumbed the focus ring, but it remained blurry.

“Let me see,” Marcos begged.

“You can’t see anything.”

“Come on!” Marcos demanded.

“I said, ‘You can’t see anything.’ We’re too close.” Still, he handed the binoculars to Marcos and let him stare at the translucent creature, wobbly as Jell-O when Kimberly poked it with a stick. He also let Marcos walk up the beach with the binoculars lifted to his face.

“You’re going to trip,” Michael warned.

“I ain’t.”

Michael sighed. He considered his little brother a pest. How was he going to manage him? And how was he going to keep Kimberly entertained?

He was forced to flop down on the sand next to his sister and help build a small castle. He listened to her explain that a princess lived there with a horse and that both liked carrots, except the princess liked hers dipped in chocolate. He remained patient as a saint when she rewove her story. The princess also had six sisters, plus a mother and father, but they didn’t know how to drive because they were born a long time ago. She was beginning to add a layer of frosting to the story when a wave came and overran the castle. She made a face at the ocean, and said, “It’s ruined, you stupid!” The walls of the castles were softened and small bubbles percolated around the base.

Michael picked her up, told her that they would build another castle later, and caught up with Marcos, who had wandered up the beach. His pants were wet to their knees. He was holding two shells to his ears.

“I’m going to make earrings for mom.”

Michael was proud that his brother could summon up such a gesture, but recognized something was wrong. His binoculars were not hanging around Marco’s neck.

“What did you do with the binoculars?”

Marcos lowered his arms.

“I left them,” he answered as he looked down at his pants. “I got wet.”

“If we weren’t on vacation….” He was going to finish his sentence that had to do with stringing him to tree when he remembered his promise to be a good big brother.

They retraced their steps, nearly washed away by the oncoming waves, and found the binoculars, wet and speckled with sand, seemingly staring at them as they approached.

“Marcos,” Michael fumed as he picked up the binoculars.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it better!” Michael snapped. Using the front of his shirt, he wiped off the lenses.

Over the crashing waves, Michael heard his mother’s voice.

"Here come Dad and Mom,” Michael said. “Behave yourselves.”

The three kids stood side-by-side and watched their parents racing down the beach toward them. They slowed, flopped on the beach, and started to catch their breath. It struck Michael that he had never seen either his father or mother run before. To him, it was kind of cute.

The kids ran to their parents and flopped next to them. Marcos and Kimberly began to construct a castle, and Michael stared at the sea through his binoculars. After a while, his father said that he had met a friend, that it was getting cold, and that they better get back to the hotel.

Michael was disappointed. He had looked forward walking as far as a craggy jut of rocks and from that premise search for the whales. He wanted to return home and say to his friends, “Hey you should have seen the whales.”

His friends, he realized, would have countered, “So? We went on Death Drop. Man, I almost died.”

*

Why would Michael require Death Drop for an adrenaline rush when he had his younger siblings, plus now the twin children of his dad’s friend? The friend was a manager at one of the Office World stores in Bakersfield.

“Here they are,” his father sang as he entered the suite.

The kids were shy as ponies, and even smaller.

“This is Michael,” his father told Matthew and Ashley, who Michael figured were in second grade. Their front teeth were missing, and, as with Kimberly, would soon sport a grill of adult teeth. They were quiet and nice, and wore nice clothes and sandals. They brought along books to read.

“Hi,” Michael greeted in an overtly sweet voice. He smiled to show them that he was nice.

“Hi,” they answered. But their eyes were on Marcos and Kimberly, the boy and girl closer to their age.

“Can take care of them for a couple of hours?” his father whispered to Michael.

“Yeah, Dad, no problem,” Michael replied. He caught a whiff of his father’s cologne—the freebees from the bathroom?—and noticed that his mother was wearing a pair of earrings that chimed when she stepped. They had reservations at in-house restaurant La Mer Romantique.

“Here’s my cell.” He informed Michael that he had ordered a pizza and sodas for them, already paid, and before leaving warned Marcos and Kimberly, “No monkey business. Listen to your big brother.”

Marcos and Kimberly shook their bobble heads.

But as soon as the parents left the room, taking with them the scent of cologne and perfume, Marcos started to run around, flapping his arms.

Michael told him to knock it off and reminded Marcos about the binoculars that he had ruined. This piece of recollection put a clap on Marcos’s antics.

“What are we going to do?” Marcos asked.

Michael had already scanned the movies available on cable television and told his brood for the evening of a scary movie rated PG.

Marcos and Kimberly screamed in delight, and the two visitors hoisted smiles. They placed their books on a table.

A knock sounded on the door.

All five kids, their faces lit with excitement, hurried to the door. Marcos and Kimberly pressed an ear to the door as if listening for its heartbeat.

“Who is it?” Michael inquired.

“Room service.”

Michael opened the door and was not surprised to find a young man holding a large pizza and a bag of sodas.

The young man entered quickly and placed their order on the coffee table. The kids stood over the grub, waiting for the cue to flap open the lid and tear the pizza to pieces.

“It’s a big one,” Marcos surmised. He was about to peel back the cardboard lid when Michael ordered the four of them to wash their hands first.

“Wait a minute,” Michael called the young man, who was already at the door ready to make his exit. He approached him and said, “Here.”

Michael presented the young man with a two-dollar tip.

“Nice,” the young man thanked him without a smile, without even the slightest bow of his head. He didn’t even close the door as he scooted out.

Michael sensed that he had let good money slip from his fingers. For the vacation, he had saved close to twenty dollars and would be carrying more if hadn’t bought the binoculars and wrist watch.

Michael sighed. So that’s what it feels like giving a tip. Feels like being a fool, he concluded.

They dug into the pizza and drank their drinks, and laughed a lot, all because they were alone without parents. Matthew told them that they were going to go swimming later. He peeled back his waist band showed them his swimming trunks.

“Cool,” Marcos said. “We’re going too, huh?”

“Only if you act right. And wipe your face.” Michael wasn’t sure if his father would allow them to swim at the pool the first night. It was a little before six, still daylight, but his parents might make them go to bed early. It had been a long drive from Fresno.

“They got money in the pool,” Ashley revealed.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked as he raised his third and last slice of pepperoni pizza. Although it was already spicy, he longed for red crushed peppers, the kind his father sprinkled on Italian food. He felt that liking spicy food was a sign of growing up, and with these four kids it was a further sign that he could handle responsibilities. But what was this about money on the bottom of the pool?

“She means that people throw coins on the bottom,” Matthew started to explain. He chewed his pizza, swallowed, and divulged that people at the resort were rich and in the practice of throwing money around, even in the pool.

“Are you rich?” Marcos asked Matthew.

“Marcos, that’s rude!” Michael bawled. “And don’t chew with your mouth open.” Still, Michael had to wonder if Matthew and his little sister were rich, or if, like them, their father had won his three-day vacation by the sweat of his brow. He wondered what kind of car they drove. A Toyota Corolla, like theirs, or a Lexus that scattered leaves when it picked up speed?

They finished eating, crammed the pizza box into the garbage can, and set themselves on the bed when Michael announced that he was about to start the movie “The People Eaters III.” Michael read the synopsis in the booklet on top of the television, and the story seemed kid friendly. It was a comedy, with special effects, and full of laughs.

But the first laughter occurred when Marcos took the pens from the nightstand, fit them in his nostrils, and bellowed, “I’m a walrus.” The pens fell from his nose, and the three little kids rolled on the bed, laughing.

“That’s ugly,” Michael said. Instead of pumping himself up in anger, Michael checked himself. His brother was just a little boy.

After the movie started and the kids had quieted, he sneaked out of the bedroom into his parents’ suite. He decided to call his friend Manuel Chavez—he gazed at his nuclear balanced, solar powered watch, which read 6:23. He pictured his friend either doing the dishes or weeding the yard. Manuel had been busted big time when his bike had gotten stolen—or most of it. He had chained it outside Longs Drugs, and when he came out ten minutes later, licking a double scoop of chocolate ice cream, he discovered the seat, handle bars, chain, tires, reflector, and front hand brake—all gone. The stripped bike resembled a mere skeleton.

“Yeah,” Manuel greeted.

“It’s me.” Michael, certain of a long evening with the four kids, was happy to reach the outside world. He got comfortable on his parents’ bed. He told Manuel about the drive to Half Moon Bay, the walk on the beach, the pizza with extra cheese, the dead thing on the beach, a cute girl’s leg he spotted as she got into the elevator, and—he swallowed but forged ahead with his fib—the sighting of two whales blasting water from the hole on the top of their heads.

“Spouts,” Manuel corrected. “Not holes.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Michael uttered. “I’m babysitting. Marcos is a brat.” He further explained the situation of the two others in his care and the tip he gave to a guy. At heart, he felt it was a dumb thing to do, but it was also a sign of maturity: giving up money without whining about it.

“I tipped this guy two dollars.”

“No way, you didn’t tip nobody.”

“ I did, man. He delivered the pizza, and I thought I should give him something. That’s the way they do it here.” He moved to the large window and looked out at the ocean. He changed the subject. He wished he hadn’t brought up the business about the tip. “Ah, man, you should see the sun and, hey, I can see two more whales blasting through”—what was that word again?—“blasting through the hole thing.”

“Spout,” Manuel corrected. “I got to go. Mom’s still mad, but Dad says it’s not my fault there’s a war going on and people are stealing just to keep alive.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get it myself. But that’s what Dad says. He’s on my side, so whatever.”

After the call Michael remained in his parents’ part of the suite watching Mexican soccer. He lay on their bed, his arms behind his head, and nearly fell asleep to the lull of waves audible through the large windows. It was a soothing calm, a natural calm. But he forced himself awake, snapped off the television, and stared down at the ocean. The sun was slowly lowering on the ocean and reddening the clouds on the horizon.

“It’s beautiful,” Michael remarked. “The ocean is great.”

But over the sound of the waves he heard another kind of water. It was coming from somewhere closer. He sniffed, as if he could smell the sound, and then jumped as he muttered, “The kids!”

He ran to the far bathroom where a roar of water made him cup his hands around his ears. For a second, he thought the plumbing had burst through the wall, and then his mind regrouped as he sized up the scene: the four kids were in the Jacuzzi, their heads barely visible over a sudsy mountain of bubble bath.

“What are you guys doing!” Michael screamed.

“You wanna get in?” Marcos yelled over the noise over the noise of the jets.

“No, stupid, I don’t want to get in!”

Michael pulled each of the kids out of the huge tub, but first he turned off the jets and the overhead heat lamp. Immediately, the suds began to collapse from their mountainous heights to small hills. The kids’ faces were pink as carnations, and their shoulders and chests were also pink. They stood up, adjusting their swimming suits and dripping on the floor.

“I know it was your idea!” Michael scolded Marcos.

“It was fun,” he argued.

The three others nodded their heads.

The bathroom was sweltering. Feverish beads of water had formed on the ceiling and walls. The floor was wet and the mirror was frosty from steam. Bubble bath drooled idiotically from a tipped over bottle.

After they toweled off, he ordered them back onto the bed to watch the rest of the movie. Michael grumbled and, on hands and knees, got under way drying the watery floor with a towel. He wrung the excess water into the tub, scrubbed, and repeated the action, convinced that this was how sailors swabbed the decks of sailing ships. He cleaned up the bubble bath and wiped the mirror: his reflection revealed to him a determined face. He realized that he was thirteen, nearly an adult, and had to assume responsibility.

He considered the soggy towel. What should he do with it? He smartly remembered a cart at the end of the hallway. He crept out of the suite, with the towel crying gray tears, dropped it at the foot of the cart, and fetched a new one.

Back at the suite, he called Manuel to tell him what stupid Marcos had done. But Manuel, his mother said none too kindly, was out in the yard whacking weeds.

Michael tossed the cell aside and went to give the bathroom a second look. There was a mist in the air, and the smell of bubble bath, but otherwise it looked good as new.
The cell phone rang. He rushed to his parents’ part of the suite and flopped onto the bed where the phone lay like a hand grenade. He pressed the button and greeted his father with a “Yeah, Dad.”

He was right—his father was checking up on him. In the background Michael could make out the din of forks and knives against plates. He could hear music and unchecked laughter.

“Everything OK?” his father inquired.

“Yeah, it’s sweet here,” Michael answered. “What are you having?”

“Filet mignon,” he answered. “I should have ordered fish. What was wrong with me? For Pete’s sake, we’re right next to the ocean.”

“Nah, dad, you were wise. Red meat is good no matter where you are. You used your instincts.”

His father liked this piece of insight and brayed how proud he was of Michael being a big boy now. His father said Michael could work up the ranks to assistant manager before he was twenty-one. That’s how proud he was of his oldest son.

“Assistant manager,” Michael remarked. He licked his lips, assessing whether he would like that sort of job. He wasn’t sure.

When he checked on the kids in the bedroom, Michael found them filling up on candy bars, potato chips, and canned sodas.

“Where did you get those?”

Marcos waited for the gooey candy bar to dissolve in his mouth before he answered.

“Over there,” he pointed.

“Where?” Michael turned and spied the looted cabinet, where candies, snacks, and drinks were kept—and sold. Michael remembered the receptionist informing his father that the room was complementary, but incidentals—a new word for Michael—would be charged to his credit card. Michael guessed that the four kids were eating incidentals.

He raced to the plundered cabinet, and groaned—it was so obvious that items were missing. He checked the menu-like card on top. A Snickers cost $3.00, and the M & Ms that Kimberly was tossing back cost the same. His finger tapped the price of soda.

“Three bucks, too!” he screamed. He turned and counted four candy bar wrappers on the bed. Rage boiled in his eyes and Marcos, sensing danger, got up and exclaimed, “You better not hit me! Remember, I have asthma.”

“You don’t have asthma.”

Marcos moved slowly as a ninja toward the corner, his mouth refreshed with another bite of candy.

“How much money you got?” Michael asked. He had to chuckle inside: Marcos was going down chewing on candy!

“I don’t got any,” Marcos answered, though he cut an unsubtle glance at his pants pocket.

“Liar!”

Michael worked his hand down his brother’s pants and pulled out two soggy dollar bills.

“I’m going to tell Mom,” he cried.

“You ate the incidentals,” Michael replied.

“No, I didn’t. I just had two Snickers and the corn nuts.” He had jumped back onto the bed to be with the others. The seeds of tears began to roll from Marco’s eyes, and that forced the other three to start their production of tears.

“You guys should have known better,” Michael scolded. “First the Jacuzzi and then eating stuff that costs money”

He ordered them to turn their backs. On their knees, they scooted around on the bed and faced the painting of a clipper ship on a stormy sea. That picture described Michael’s feelings—stormy and dangerous. If their loose-lipped tattle tales caused him to sink, they would sink with him.

With their backs turned, he retrieved from the drawer his stash of money—nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents. He pushed the drawer close with his hip, ordered them to turn around and gather the candy wrappers and cans, and barked how disappointed he was with them.

Worried that Matthew and Ashley might recount the story later to their parents, he decided to soften. He manufactured a smile.

“Well, it’s not that bad. You’re really good kids.” He gazed at the movie on the screen. “How was the movie?”

“Scary,” Ashley answered.

Michael stepped in front of the television. There was a detached arm lying in the grass, and, in the background, zombies were stumbling toward lava pouring out of a small—and fake-looking—volcano. He had to wonder whether PG movies had changed from when he was a really little kid.

He zapped off the television. His gaze fell upon the candy wrappers on the bed. Depressed, he picked up the pen to figure out how much it would cost to pay for these overpriced candies and drinks. Whoever heard of a box of Junior Patty Mints costing $3.75? His father would have called it highway robbery.

He then dropped the pen, disgusted. It was one that Marcos had put up his nose.

*

At 8:45 the parents arrived jolly from their meal and company. The setting sun had blazed on the ocean’s horizon, and even seemed to sizzle as it disappeared. A purplish darkness rolled down the long drive from the highway to the hotel. Earlier, Michael had scanned the outside world for a convenience store. He had a plan.

“Michael, could you escort Matthew and Ashley back to their room.” His father no longer smelled of cologne but roasted meat. “I’m beat.”

Michael was glad to escape the confines of the suite, and asked his father if he could take a quick swim. Father looked at Mother for the answer, and Mother at her nearly grown son.

“Were the children a bother?” she asked. Her hairdo was limp, her lipstick gone. She looked beat.

Michael slowly swiveled his head at Marcos, whose mouth was faintly smeared with chocolate.

“They were OK,” he answered flatly as he pictured Marcos with pens up his nose.
When Michael was given permission to swim for thirty minutes, he peered down at his watch. According to the clock on the television, it was 8:49. His watch read 8:47. One of the timepieces was wrong and he was beginning to question his purchase from Mario’s Second Look Thrift Shop. Was it another losing moment in his life?

He escorted Matthew and Ashley back to their parents’ suite on the fifth floor. He was nervous. He could see the outline of their wet swimming trunks and decided that he should be honest—to a point.

“Hi,” Michael greeted when the door opened cautiously. The man, Michael assessed, also smelled of roasted meat—the fathers must have eaten with flashing knives as they cut through nuggets of fat. “I’m Michael.”

“ Hi, Michael,” the father said in a near whisper as the door swung open. Television noise rose from inside. “How were Matt and Ashley?”

“Really nice.” Michael licked his lips to gather up courage to speak. “I don’t know if it was OK—they had their swimming suits on—but I let them play in the Jacuzzi.”

“Smart move,” the father replied as he watched the two children pass through the door and start running toward their mother, whose welcoming arms were spread open. The father then reached for his back pocket—a tip? Michael wondered—and, indeed, pulled out a large wallet.

“Here’s a little something,” the father suggested. He had brought out a limp five dollar bill, exercised to death by a thousand exchanges over its lifetime.

“No, I can’t,” Michael begged as he stepped away from the five dollars flapping like a seagull in the man’s hand.

In the end, Michael left thanking him again and again for the money, and even offered a sort of a bow. Michael admonished himself as he walked away. It was only five dollars! He laughed and thought, You shouldn’t start bowing until the figure reaches twenty dollars!

At the end of the hallway he counted the money from his drawer, the two dollars he confiscated from Marcos, and his earnings for babysitting Matthew and Ashley, good kids he realized but perhaps tainted by their brief association with Marcos? He looked down at his notes: three Snickers, the Junior Patty Mints, four Pepsis, two bags of potato chips, and a packet of gum.

He estimated that they had eaten close to forty-three dollars of overpriced stuff. He ran the figures two more times, then counted his money: a little over twenty-eight dollars.

“This should do it,” he concluded. He figured that the snacks purchased from the convenience store would only cost about twelve dollars. He could splurge on a hotdog rotating, plus buy a magazine.

He took the elevator to the lobby, his flip flops spanking his soles in a sort of punishment for his lax watch over the kids. He paused by a marble column. In the far end of the lobby, roped off for adults gathered to drink beers and pull down cocktails, he noticed dollar bills and the scattering of change on the same tables. The vacationers had feasted, laughed with their mouths open, and were gone. The servers had yet to come around to retrieve what Michael viewed as a treasure.

“If I was a thief, I could snag the tips.”

Common sense told him to move on. He couldn’t be tempted by money meant for others. He left the hotel, the front doors parting mechanically, and eyed two Jaguars, three Mercedes Benz, four Lexuses, and a Hummer Limo. They were parked next to a No Parking sign. Some cars, he figured, were above the law.

“People are rich here,” he muttered. He looked around his feet hoping that the rich people dropped dollar bills and coins getting out of their expensive vehicles. He was disappointed. There were crushed cigarette butts, a bottle cap, and a single candy wrapper scuttling in the ocean breeze.

Michael ran down the incline and stopped on the street. From the hotel balcony—and through his binoculars—the convenience store seemed near by, just a stroll down the street, and you were there. But it was farther than it appeared.

“I just got to do it,” he muttered with determination. In the back of his mind, however, lurked the image of his mother. She would be angry if she discovered that he was out on his own.

He tore down to the convenience store, where he bought the replacements, and splurged on a hotdog that seemed grilled to death. But with mustard, ketchup and pickle relish, the hotdog was brought back to life. He also paused at the magazine rack, and was reading Sports Illustrated when he remembered the time. He looked down at his watch. It wasn’t time, but his solar nuclear powered watch that had run out of steam.

“I’m never going there again,” he mumbled as he pictured in his mind Mario’s Second Look Thrift Shop.

Back at the hotel, he sneaked into the suite. His little brother and sister were asleep, but a single lamp shone in his parents’ bedroom. He quickly replaced the goods in the cabinet, and was stripping off his shirt for bed—he was going to sleep in his swimming trunks—when his father said, “Michael.”

His tone sounded ominous. Had his father found out about the ransacked cabinet? Had he lifted the binoculars and seen his son running to the convenience store?

Michael followed his father’s voice in the dark to the short hallway that separated the two suites.

“Yeah, Dad?” he asked.

“Let’s go for a dip,” his father suggested.

Michael was confused, but it all became clear when his father turned on the bathroom light. His father was dressed in swimming trunks.

Michael entered the large bathroom and closed the door behind him. His father patted his stomach and said, “I was once like you—a skinny boy.”

Michael couldn’t see that. His father skinny, once a boy? His father started to fill the Jacuzzi and poured a bottle of shampoo into the bubbling tide that began to lap the sides of the tub.

“This is nice,” his father sighed as he dipped a toe in the water and started to climb in.

Michael joined him and let out a muffled moan: the water was hot, and steam rose in curling waves that quickly fogged the bathroom.

“I’m cooking,” Michael cried but not too loudly. His mother was asleep in the next room, and he feared that Marcos might open the closed door and ask, “Hey, what are you guys doing?” The brat would ruin it all.

With the Jacuzzi filled, his father turned on the jets that sent hard pokes of water shooting at their bodies.

“This is nice,” his father repeated.

They soaked and talked about baseball, and when his father said, “Hey, your watch,” Michael peered down at the water-speckled glass. To his surprise, it was running again, actually sprinting, because according to the clock on the basin, his solar nuclear watch with a real kangaroo wrist band had caught up. He took it off and was placing it on the sink when his father also rose with sheets of water falling off him.

“I’ll be back,” he said with a smile on his face. He cracked open the door, looked sneakily left and right, and then tiptoed out. Minutes later, he returned with sodas, corn nuts, and Snicker bars.

“You live only once,” he quipped. He tore open a Snickers’ bar with his teeth.

Michael estimated that his father had taken about fourteen dollars in goodies from the cabinet. He had never seen this kind of extravagance in his father, who was usually so tightfisted with money. He had to wonder if he had drunk wine with dinner.

Michael accepted the soda, a packet of corn nuts, and the Snickers bar from his father. He looked at them as if he had never seen them, as if they were something foreign, exotic, life saving! How strange! Just minutes ago, they had been sitting on shelves at the convenience store and now they were parked on the lip of a bubbling Jacuzzi.

Father and son ate and drank, and shared stories—his father about his one and only homerun when he was in Little League and Michael a story of a three-point basket that won a game. Michael swigged his soda, released a polite burp. He understood why people enjoyed a soak in a Jacuzzi. The jets massaged your back and legs and released the tension of the day. For Michael, the day had been a long one that had stretched from before dawn until—through the steam, he peered at his wrist watch on the sink—three lovely minutes before midnight.