The Lost Hours

“Six p.m. Right?” I send the text, then look up at the open road ahead of me.

His reply comes back. “Six p.m. I’m staying at the Moenkopi Legacy Inn & Suites. We’ll review the contracts, then order dinner. Did you get a room?”

I dictate my reply, both hands on the wheel. The highway has suddenly started juddering beneath my wheels, a sure sign of past flash flooding in the area. No wonder, I think to myself as I look out the window on both sides. There’s nothing but desert for miles, with a few mesas thrown in for good measure. “Yeah. No room in Moenkopi, though. I’m about four minutes’ walk across Highway 160. The Dine Inn Motel?” Even the name sounds suspect. Is it a place one stays? Or dines?

This evening is an important one. I’m still in my probationary period. It’s taken me nearly the entire six months to shmooze the good folks in Tuba City, Arizona. With permission from the Navajo Nation, of course. Fielding does a lot of work all over the country. We aim to stay on the good side of whatever authorities there might be. You rub my back, etc.

Six months of Zoom meetings. Six months of phone calls. Planners, developers, architects. All of this at our expense. They have the land we need. The people of Tuba City and the surrounding areas need jobs. It’s a fair deal. I made sure of it.

With nearly everything in place, it comes down to a final site visit. Harry’s my boss, one of the senior vice presidents. I need to make a good impression.

Siri tells me there’s a speed trap ahead, but she’s wrong. I am mindful that as I get closer to civilization I’ll need to check the speed limit. Small towns like Tuba City and Moenkopi are probably just like every other small town with an even smaller police force, happy to ticket unsuspecting travelers who just want to get somewhere. That’s not me, though. Tuba City is my final destination, at least for the next two days.

Signaling to exit the highway, I look over to the right in time to see the Moenkopi Legacy Inn & Suites. Fancy digs for this part of the state. Not much reason to head here. None, if you’re a local. I figure there must be some kind of money behind that development.

Taking a left, I can immediately see the Dine Inn Motel. My heart sinks. It looks even worse in person than it did on the website.

The sun beats down on my head when I get out of the car after parking near the small building marked “Office.” July, hot as all get out.

I sign the page the clerk puts in front of me, warning me about check out times and keeping the noise level down. He silently hands me an old-fashioned door key with a plastic tag attached to it. Room 14.

“Thank you!” I call over my shoulder as I head back out into the heat. Sarcastic? Yeah. But other than my hello and asking for my room key, I’m the only one who’s spoken during this entire transaction.

Room 14 is…a room. Four walls, a door, and a bed. I kick the door shut behind me, leery about touching anything.

I’m hot, though. Weary from hours on the road. Stripping, I head to the bathroom. Small, but not gross. Well, not too gross. I promise myself not to touch the shower curtain or the tile wall. Stepping out of my shoes and into the shower, I sigh in relief as the the cool water pours blissfully over me.

Once that’s done, I wrap one of the small towels around me. A quick check of the time. I’ve still got three hours before we meet. Gingerly peeling the bedspread back, I take out a black light and check for bedbugs, then sit on the bed to dry off.

***

When I wake up, I panic. How long have I slept? I check my phone. I’ve lost two hours, but I’m good. I’ll get ready, then head over early.

The sun still blazes down as I head out to my car. I’d walk, but running across Highway 160 in a suit and tie doesn’t seem like the best of ideas.

Two minutes later I’m in the air conditioned lobby of the hotel. Entering the restaurant, I spot Harry seated at one of the tables overlooking the courtyard. It’s a nice restaurant, white tablecloths and everything.

Harry looks up when I lift my hand. He’s frowning. It’s then I notice that the table is littered with folded napkins and empty glasses.

I hurry his way. “Harry? Where are our guests?”

He looks pointedly at his watch. “It’s 6:45.”

I look at my phone. Hold it up. “5:45?”

“6:45.” He shakes his head. “Our guests were here, then left. Seems they don’t deal with company men who don’t have the grace to show up on time.”

My heart starts pounding. “Wait. What? We lost the contract?”

Harry raises his hand to a passing waiter. “Daylight Savings Time. You had one thing to do, son. Just one. And that was to cement the deal tonight. They don’t know me. They know you. They want to do this deal with you, but not if you can’t show up on time.”

I rub my forehead, weary all over again. “That’s it? It’s done?”

He hands his credit card to the waiter who arrives with the check. “Lucky for you, they’re willing to give you another chance. Kind of an inside joke around here, it seems, that you can cross the street in Tuba City and be an hour late. Or early.”

He sighs. “Get some rest. We meet back here at 8 a.m.” For the first time this evening, he cracks a smile. “That’s Mountain Time, Chris.”


***
989 words

Prompt: Title your story or poem "The Lost Hours" and include some sort of confusion and/or missed connection between characters due to differing Daylight Saving Time changes.

***
A part of the Hopi Nation, which lies within the Navajo Nation, follows Arizona’s no-DST rule. To confuse matters more, there is also an even smaller Navajo Nation territory within the Hopi Nation within the Navajo Nation. In addition to this, there is another Hopi area adjacent to the main Hopi Nation territory.
As a result, if driving the correct route from the Arizona state border through both Navajo and Hopi areas to the other side you can end up changing your clock 7 times! For example: Tuba City (Navajo) and Moenkopi (Hopi) are only a couple of miles apart, but they have a 1-hour time difference during the summer.
https://www.timeanddate.com/time/us/arizona-no-dst.html#:~:text=A%20part%20of%20...