The Wayward Zephyr
A Cape Cod RomanceBy Roberto de HaroAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Roberto de Haro
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4567-6148-6Chapter One
Cape Cod
A Man may stand there [Cape Cod]
and put all America behind him.
—Henry David Thoreau
Cape Cod (1865)
Lara woke with a start, the distant sound of thunder reminiscent ofexplosions she'd heard in Namibia near the border with Angola. "Oh myGod, they're attacking again," she exclaimed, sitting up in bed. Memoriesof the fighting along the border between the two countries were alwaysthere and always frightening. She hugged herself and whispered that shewas not in Africa, but at her family's home on Cape Cod. Bart, herPortuguese water dog, looked up from the floor, his simian-shaped headtilted to one side, dark brown, expressive eyes partially obscured by richblack hair. She reached over and scratched behind his ears, an act toreassure herself more than the dog that all was copacetic. Bart yawned,put his head down between his large paws, and closed his eyes. He hadbeen a gift from her parents, and she believed there was a trace of poodlesomewhere in his background. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes,her time in the Peace Corps serving in Namibia a vexatious memory thatincluded vivid images of happy moments and sad ones.
Lara's sojourn in Namibia had been a mix of enjoyment, frustration, andloss. She loved the people, especially the children. She recalled fondly thedark-skinned children standing close to their mothers dressed in colorfulcostumes resplendent to the eye. But for the fighting in neighboring statesthat sporadically spilled across the border like a merciless plague, hertenure there was pleasant and enjoyable. Insurgents to the north frequentlycrossed the border to escape their pursuers and took to stealing and tomolesting women while in Namibia. Try as she might to suppress horrificimages of what she'd witnessed, gruesome memories and hidden demons inher subconscious emerged unexpectedly. She rose, washed down a Tylenolcaplet with water, returned to bed, and was soon fast asleep.
Lara Louise Collington was twenty-nine, and lived and worked inBoston. She was the middle child in a family of five. Her father, GeoffreyBernard Collington, was appointed to the Massachusetts Supreme JudicialCourt just after she returned from Africa. He was a successful seniorpartner in a highly regarded, conservative law firm in Boston before hisappointment to the bench. His work in the area of corporate law andsupport for environmental protection had earned him a reputation as afair-minded advocate for sound ecological policy that blended responsiblecorporate practices with the concerns of powerful conservation groups.Astrid, Lara's mother, teased Geoff about being a tightwire performer,balancing between two often aggressive and contentious groups. It washis objective, middle-of-the-road attitude, coupled with strong writingskills, that earned Geoff promotion to senior partner in the law firm andan adjunct law professorship at a local law school. With his appointmentto the State Supreme Judicial Court, Geoff Collington found time to bewith Astrid and to travel. While working at the law firm, consulting onhigh-profile environmental cases, and teaching law courses part time, hisschedule had permitted limited time to be with his family. But all of thatchanged with his appointment to the bench. He rediscovered his wife andfamily, and relished his increased time with the grandchildren.
When Lara woke, it was a shade past six in the morning. She changedinto her running clothes and went out for a run with Bart. The Collingtons'home on the Cape had been in her family for three generations, and was inYarmouth on River Street close to the mouth of the Bass River, a saltwaterextension that ebbed back and forth with the tides of Nantucket Sound.Lara had passed many enjoyable moments of her life at Yarmouth. It wasa sanctuary, a place of fond memories, and a retreat from the tensions ofworking in a sprawling metropolis like Boston. On the Cape she rekindledher spirit. Like her brothers Kellen and Doak she'd learned to sail at theHyannis Yacht Club and still frequented that favorite spot for lunch ordinner.
Lara jogged south and then through a public parking lot to the beachthat stretched along the south side of Yarmouth. Bart matched her stridefor stride, and once they reached the beach, he raced along the edge of thecold water, stopping now and then to wait for his owner. It was late in theyear, and the sound appeared slate gray and uninviting. After a three-milerun, Lara and Bart returned to the house.
The home on River Street had been built by Lara's great-grandfatherJames Collington, a successful sea captain who became a businessman onthe Cape. He'd owned several small sailing ships and steamers and broughtcargo to Yarmouth from different ports in the United States, Canada, andEngland. He purchased the land and built a house with a dock. Lara'sgrandfather, a prominent banker in Boston, remodeled the house, addinga second full bathroom and later a half bath along with a fourth bedroomthat doubled as a library. But it was Astrid and Geoff, Lara's parents, who'dsubstantially remodeled the house, constructing a sleeping loft, redoingthe kitchen and bathrooms, adding air-conditioning, and building a thirdgarage and a shed on the spacious property to store the kayaks and otherwater gear.
The house was a summer home and an occasional retreat where theCollingtons sailed, kayaked, power-boated, or just relaxed at a nearby beachwhen the weather permitted. The Collingtons met often at the Cape housefor Thanksgiving. It was a special place that Lara loved for its warmth andenjoyment, particularly when the family was there together. But it was alsoher quiet retreat. Since completing her master's in psychology, the RiverStreet house was a wonderland where Lara passed long, pleasant hoursdoing whatever she wanted. Bart was her faithful companion, and sharedthe moments of contemplation, leisure, and solitude at the Cape.
After returning from their run, Lara hosed off Bart and partially driedhim with an old towel. He didn't shed or give off normal doggie odors. Hiscoat was curly and onyx, except for a white goatee, a small white blaze onhis chest, and white tips on his front paws that Astrid called his spats.
Lara made coffee, put food in Bart's bowl, and took a quick showerbefore dressing. She was a shade over five foot seven, slender, with long,well-proportioned, muscular legs. She'd always been an excellent athlete,something that manifested itself in her family. Her skin, like Astrid's,tanned beautifully to a rich copper hue. When Lara was a little girl andromping around the Cape, Astrid affectionately referred to her as a "wildlittle Indian" because of her tan. As the middle child sandwiched betweentwo very active brothers, Lara had to stand up to incessant teasing byKellen, and especially Doak, her younger brother. Kellen was six feet tall,like Geoff, and Doak was about an inch taller.
Lara turned on her laptop and checked the news while eating a bowlof cereal and sipping the dark, rich coffee she'd made. During the summermonths when the family was on the Cape, Geoff had the local newspaperdelivered. But it was late October, and Lara went online to access the newsrather than to a convenience store on Route 28 to get the paper. She did,however, buy the Sunday paper and sit to read it after sailing, or...
