Read Online War at Home: A Smokey Dalton Novel by Kris Nelscott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kris Nelscott
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road a few miles later — dug into the earth, but not yet paved, and we found ourselves directed to 17K leading into Newburgh. I nearly stopped for the night then, but I didn’t see an obviously friendly neighborhood.
It was growing dark as we crossed the Hudson River into Beacon. I wished we hadn’t taken this route after all. The interstate had been planned to bypass the main highways, so we found ourselves on back roads that led to places I’d never been with names like Fishkill and Poughquag.
The back roads weren’t direct, either, like the i nterstate was supposed to be, so we went at least fifty miles out of our way north to catch Highway 22, which took us south to US 6 which finally took us into Connecticut.
I’d never been a fan of Connecticut. The state was too white and too rural for me. I’d been in and out of it a few times as I’d traveled to New York from Boston. But I was relieved to see the white and black Connecticut road signs appear in my headlights. Danbury wasn’t far, and if New Haven hadn’t been less than an hour from there, I probably would have stayed in Danbury despite my misgivings.
I was getting tired, my eyes hurt, and I had been on the road too long. As it was, we had to stop just outside of Danbury to let Jimmy pee on the side of the road. He got a little thrill from doing something forbidden in the dark because I wasn’t going to let any cop catch a glimpse of our skin color from our headlights.
We took US 6 to Connecticut 34, going through sleepy small town after sleepy small town, filled with expensive homes and barns and silent streets. Malcolm kept looking at me nervously , and I kept ignoring him. I didn’t want him to see how uncomfortable I was.
Route 34 was supposed to dump us in New Haven, and I wouldn’t have realized that we had gotten there if it hadn’t been for Jimmy, yelling and pointing at the tiny NEW HAVEN , POPULATION 136,000 sign that was pushed up near a tree on the side of the road.
Like the rest of Connecticut, the buildings were dark here. But the area was dilapidated. Warehouses and storefronts, many made of brick, had boarded windows and barred doors. Streetlights were either burned out or knocked out.
Ours was the only car on the road.
“You know where we’re staying?” Malcolm asked.
I shook my head. I felt at a loss. I hadn’t called ahead, because I hadn’t known New Haven, and wasn’t sure what part of town we would stay in. But I had expected to arrive in daylight.
Another sign told us we were headed toward the Yale Bowl, and I continued on the same route. I figured if we got close to the university, we had a chance of finding a motel that might take us.
Since the university was integrated, black parents had to stay somewhere. So I doubted any of the nearby motels would throw us out, especially if I assured them we’d only stay one night. My bigger concern was prices. Yale was an expensive and prestigious university, so I expected the hotel prices in New Haven to reflect that.
“Hey, Smoke!” Jimmy scooted forward in his seat. “There’s a place.”
He was pointing at the right side of the road. There, not a block ahead of us, was a motel, built into the shape of a U. The center had trees and a carport. Someone had placed lights at decent intervals, revealing a small group of cars parked at one end.
I turned into the parking lot. The place didn’t look full. A neon V ACANCY sign had a burned out V, and no one had turned on the Y ES or N O below it.
It was nearly midnight, but I decided to take my chances.
I parked beneath the carport. A wrought-iron fence framed the north and south sides of the carport, and the front door of the office had the same wrought - iron design.
That door was closed and obviously locked. But someone had taped a handwritten sign to one side of the door.
I got out and walked to the door. The sign, above the doorbell, read:
F OR AFTER - HOURS SERVICE, PLEASE RING BELL .
AND BE PREPARED TO
It was growing dark as we crossed the Hudson River into Beacon. I wished we hadn’t taken this route after all. The interstate had been planned to bypass the main highways, so we found ourselves on back roads that led to places I’d never been with names like Fishkill and Poughquag.
The back roads weren’t direct, either, like the i nterstate was supposed to be, so we went at least fifty miles out of our way north to catch Highway 22, which took us south to US 6 which finally took us into Connecticut.
I’d never been a fan of Connecticut. The state was too white and too rural for me. I’d been in and out of it a few times as I’d traveled to New York from Boston. But I was relieved to see the white and black Connecticut road signs appear in my headlights. Danbury wasn’t far, and if New Haven hadn’t been less than an hour from there, I probably would have stayed in Danbury despite my misgivings.
I was getting tired, my eyes hurt, and I had been on the road too long. As it was, we had to stop just outside of Danbury to let Jimmy pee on the side of the road. He got a little thrill from doing something forbidden in the dark because I wasn’t going to let any cop catch a glimpse of our skin color from our headlights.
We took US 6 to Connecticut 34, going through sleepy small town after sleepy small town, filled with expensive homes and barns and silent streets. Malcolm kept looking at me nervously , and I kept ignoring him. I didn’t want him to see how uncomfortable I was.
Route 34 was supposed to dump us in New Haven, and I wouldn’t have realized that we had gotten there if it hadn’t been for Jimmy, yelling and pointing at the tiny NEW HAVEN , POPULATION 136,000 sign that was pushed up near a tree on the side of the road.
Like the rest of Connecticut, the buildings were dark here. But the area was dilapidated. Warehouses and storefronts, many made of brick, had boarded windows and barred doors. Streetlights were either burned out or knocked out.
Ours was the only car on the road.
“You know where we’re staying?” Malcolm asked.
I shook my head. I felt at a loss. I hadn’t called ahead, because I hadn’t known New Haven, and wasn’t sure what part of town we would stay in. But I had expected to arrive in daylight.
Another sign told us we were headed toward the Yale Bowl, and I continued on the same route. I figured if we got close to the university, we had a chance of finding a motel that might take us.
Since the university was integrated, black parents had to stay somewhere. So I doubted any of the nearby motels would throw us out, especially if I assured them we’d only stay one night. My bigger concern was prices. Yale was an expensive and prestigious university, so I expected the hotel prices in New Haven to reflect that.
“Hey, Smoke!” Jimmy scooted forward in his seat. “There’s a place.”
He was pointing at the right side of the road. There, not a block ahead of us, was a motel, built into the shape of a U. The center had trees and a carport. Someone had placed lights at decent intervals, revealing a small group of cars parked at one end.
I turned into the parking lot. The place didn’t look full. A neon V ACANCY sign had a burned out V, and no one had turned on the Y ES or N O below it.
It was nearly midnight, but I decided to take my chances.
I parked beneath the carport. A wrought-iron fence framed the north and south sides of the carport, and the front door of the office had the same wrought - iron design.
That door was closed and obviously locked. But someone had taped a handwritten sign to one side of the door.
I got out and walked to the door. The sign, above the doorbell, read:
F OR AFTER - HOURS SERVICE, PLEASE RING BELL .
AND BE PREPARED TO
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