The Arrogant Architect (13 page)

“All right, everyone,” Ross shouts, “I received confirmation
this morning we will have a food critic in here today. That means you all need
to be at the top of your game.”     

I yawn, trying to stay awake as I hide from Ross behind
Emilio, and Ross says, “Ever, what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem, Chef.”

“Am I boring you?” he asks.

“No, Chef.”

“’Cause if I am, you can run this meeting, and this kitchen,
and handle the pressure of the critic. Do you want that?”

“You’re not boring me, Chef. I can handle the pressure.”

He walks up to me, standing mere inches from my face and
says, “You look tired.”

“No, Chef.”

“So you wanna run the front line with me?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

“If you fuck this up, Ever, don’t come back in here. You got
it?”

“Yes, Chef, I appreciate your confidence in me. I won’t mess
this up.”

“All right, everyone, Ever will assist me, you all are in
your normal places. Any questions?”

“No, Chef.” the kitchen shouts and I yawn again. Pissed that
I am so tired. Mistee walks up to me and slurps on a huge iced Starbucks, and I
yank it out of her hand and slam the rest of it, “Hey, you snatch.”

Handing her back the empty cup, I say, “That’s ‘Chef’ to
you.”

She tosses the cup in the trash and I put my game face on,
blurring out everything that is mind-fucking me. All the shit with King and the
pain of missing my mom and what happened with her letters, I let it go. Nothing
is going to get in my way today.

The lunch rush begins and I treat each ticket like it is the
critic’s, because truth be told, we won’t know which one is theirs until after
they taste our food. Assisting Ross to keep the kitchen running smoothly and in
order, I’m in my zone.

“I need a shrimp cavatappi with extra sauce on the side.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Ross is right next to me, analyzing and scrutinizing every
plate that leaves the kitchen. But each time, he gives me a thumbs-up and we
keep knocking it out, plate after plate after plate.

“Chef Ever,” Trent walks into the kitchen and calls out.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a phone call.”

“Can you please take a message?”

“It’s your father on line two; he said it’s an emergency.” I
look at him, stunned, blinking a few times. The last time my dad called me and
it was an emergency, my mom had taken a turn for the worst. Dropping what I am
doing, I run to the phone and frantically answer it, “Dad?” 

“Ever, there was an accident with King.”

Placing my hand over my mouth, my heart breaks at the news.
“Accident?” I repeat.

“Yes, baby, he went out for a swim this morning and never
came back.”

He doesn’t swim. “What do you mean?”

“He left from his house this morning, and a couple walking
the beach saw him and tried to stop him, the seas were really rough…but he
wouldn’t listen to them.”

“In the fucking ocean? Are you sure, Dad? It doesn’t sound
like him.”

“Yes, Galinda called me. We’re at his house now.”

“Fuck.” I grip my hair, so scared for him. The ocean… “I’ll
be right there.” Everyone is looking at me as I grab my bag and I say, “I have
to go.”

Running out the door, I hop in my car, thankful that I drove
today. I was so tired that I couldn’t walk or bike. Putting the pedal down, my
insides burn, still trying to process the news. I get that he was heartbroken –
hell, so am I – but you don’t go and jump into the fucking Atlantic Ocean.

You just don’t.

Pulling my phone out, I check to see if he texted or called
me today, but there is nothing from him. Dialing his number, I swerve
manically, trying to get to his house as fast as I can. My mind is spinning,
racing, thinking about King not only doing something like this, but the
possibility that he is lost at sea. I’m scared, terrified. I was pissed at him,
but I didn’t want anything to happen to him. Thinking of never seeing him again
makes the tears stream harder.

Pulling up to his house, the gate is open and I speed up the
driveway, noticing a few police cars parked behind his. Shutting my car off, I
run inside, his aunt Galinda and my dad are in the kitchen talking. Galinda is
visibly upset and I hug her, asking them both, “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know a thing, dear.”

“Where are the cops?”

“Looking around…for clues.” Walking off for any clues of my
own, everything is as it was when I left him here last night. Going into his
bedroom, the bed is messy, my socks are still on the floor.

Walking into the bathroom, I’m startled by a police officer
that is rummaging through his medicine cabinet. “Oh, sorry,” I say.

“That’s okay. Are you Mr. Lennox’s girlfriend?” I swallow
and nod in response.

“I’m Officer Monroe.”

“Everly Adams.” I shake his hand and he passes me a bottle
of pills. “Was Mr. Lennox taking this medication regularly, that you’re aware
of?”

I take the bottle from him and read the label,
Lithium,
take one pill three times daily for treatment of bipolar disorder
. “I’ve
never seen him take any medicine,” I tell the officer.

He drops it into a plastic bag and I ask him, “What is that,
like, your evidence?”

“Right now, we’re trying to find anything that will help us
locate Mr. Lennox.”

“Then why don’t you search the fucking ocean?” I shout at
him and storm off.
           
King is
bipolar?

Walking out onto the rooftop balcony, so many things make
sense and click together. Had I known...I could’ve helped him. Standing at the
railing, this is going to be my best view of the area, searching far and wide.
The echoes of the helicopters searching the water put me into a trance. I look
for any signs of King, my hands gripping the concrete railing where he once
fucked me, and it kills me to think that me leaving him would cause him to do
such a thing. If only I could go back in time, I’d change so many things.

Staring at the sea, I fear for him and what nightfall could
bring. They need to find him soon. In the distance, I spot a few big boats on
the way up the coast that must be part of the search crew. Assuming it’s the
Coast Guard, I say a prayer that they find him and walk back downstairs. The
medicine the officer asked me about has my mind spinning. Why wouldn’t he tell
me something like that? Going in search of Galinda, I need answers. She is on
the phone and I ask my dad, “Did Galinda say anything to you about King being
bipolar?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“There’s a medicine bottle prescribed to him in his
bathroom.”

Standing in the kitchen, I’m anxious, my body is tingling; I
can’t sit around here and wait. I need to do something. Walking out back, there
is another officer combing the perimeter for evidence, and I ask him, “May I go
down to the water?”

“Yes, ma’am, but please don’t get in.”

“Of course.” I make my way down the path, my eyes eating up
the view, looking for any sign of him, praying that he is okay. Gazing down,
there are footprints everywhere; the cops must’ve already been down here.

Dropping to my knees where the sand and water meet, I place
my face in my hands and cry. So lost. What am I going to do if they never find
him? How am I going to go on? I didn’t realize it at the time, but King is my
salvation. My light from the darkness, from the pain I’ve been living in. For
once, I had a partner to share my life with, and he gave me a purpose for
living, and it wasn’t to go to work and cook every day.

If only I’d known he had a problem, that he was sick like
that, I could’ve understood him. Then all the bizarre ass shit he did would
have made so much more sense. Thinking back on it all now, the pieces all are
coming together – he’d have his crazy goofy exasperating days, like chasing me
down on a fucking bike, endless energy, a thousand ideas pouring out of him at
once, having no clue to the extremes he was taking things. Then, he’d be so
mellow and relaxed, almost like all his energy had drained out of him. It had
no rhyme or reason.

But I’m not giving up hope. I never will. I’ll search the
ends of the earth if I have to, in order to locate him. Because he’d do the
exact same thing for me.

“Local architect and restoration tycoon, Kingsley Lennox, is
still missing after almost twelve hours at sea. His family is urging any
boaters in the area to assist in aiding his return. During a press conference
today at Mr. Lennox’s house, his girlfriend Everly Adams said, ‘King is the
strongest and most fearless man I know. What happened to him was an accident.
He is a fighter and I’m confident he’s out there waiting to be found.’”

Hearing my own words wrecks me. I don’t even believe myself.
He did this on purpose and that is a scary, scary thing to cope with. Earlier
today, reports circulated that this was a suicide attempt, and we quickly put
an end to that.

“We’re all hoping for Mr. Lennox’s safe return, I’m Vivica
Fox, with News 4.”

I stare at King’s laptop. The noise of the TV has been
constant all day, but in order to locate him out there in the treacherous seas,
calling attention to this is what had to be done. 

His aunt confirmed to me that he is bipolar, but said he has
been very diligent in taking his medicine and his low lows have been very well
controlled, and his milder highs have been what have fueled his passion and
creativity in his work, and his rapid cycles have been manageable. He hasn’t
had a true manic or depressive episode in years. So we agreed to tell the cops
he takes it every day, when we were questioned, because we have to assume that
is the truth. More importantly, we just need King home and we need as much
support as possible to make that happen.

“Here,” my dad says, handing me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You know his car keys were all inside the coffee filters?”

“That’s funny,” I tell him, not able to go further into the
past of what really happened, it won’t help in bringing King home.

Sipping on the coffee, I read another article about people
lost at sea and find comfort that one man survived for sixty-two days. “Did you
get a hold of his parents?” I ask Galinda.

“I left both of them messages.”

I’m not quite sure why they aren’t responding. I’m sure they
had to have heard news of this by now. But from the stories King has told me,
they probably won’t be much help, or sadly…even care.

“You should get some sleep,” Galinda says.

I shake my head and take another sip of the coffee my dad
gave me. Galinda turns the TV up as another news channel airs live coverage
from outside the gate of King’s house. Needing a break and to silence away all
the noise, I go up to King’s bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I wander
across the room and fall onto his bed, floating back to last night in my head.
How did I not see this coming, or think something like this could happen?

Grabbing his pillow, I bury my nose into it, his scent so
unreal as it takes me back to the day I met him. So confident and beautiful,
King is a man like no other. Then I drift to our fight and how I pushed him
away. Had I not been such a bitch, maybe he wouldn’t have done this. A wave of
remorse hits me hard and I pray that somewhere out there he is okay, and he’ll
come back to me…

Rolling over, King is not in bed. I get up worried and
pad quietly across the house in search of him, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“King?” I call out, scared that he’s not here with me.

He doesn’t answer me and I run downstairs to the vault,
but he isn’t down here. Running back up, I race from room to room, and still
nothing. Real anxiety fills my body. Fuck. Where could he be? Going back into
the bedroom, I see the door to the rooftop deck is cracked.

Walking out, I spot him sitting on the railing. His legs
are dangling over the edge and I freeze. “King?” I call out.

He shakes his head back and forth, ignoring me

“Thank God I found you, I was so scared.” I touch his
back, he tenses, and I pull my hand away, asking him, “What’s the matter?”

He doesn’t respond again and I stare at his profile, lit
by the moonlight. He’s a statue, bracing the railing and dangling his legs. I
get up to sit next to him and he stops me, shouting, “Don’t,” but I don’t
listen. If he’s sitting up here…then so am I. Wrapping my legs over the cool
concrete, I take his hand into mine. His molds around mine and feels so good…so
right. As I gaze over at him, he begins to cry, tears streaming down his face,
and he says, “Please get off here and leave me alone.”

“No, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Goddammit,” he shouts so loud that I flinch. “I don’t
want you to get hurt too.” And suddenly, he is standing on the deck and I am in
his arms. “Why won’t you ever fuckin’ listen to me?” he snaps, and I nuzzle his
neck, so terrified right now. I don’t know what to do.

But none of it matters as I found him and he’s okay.
Folding my arms around him, I hold him close to me. “You’re scaring me,
King.” 

Then he drops to the ground, completely defeated, and I
fall with him. He’s crying hysterically and I’m not sure what to do. “It’s
okay, whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he whispers into my body and I coddle him
like a child, trying to understand what’s going on.

“Talk to me.”

He cries harder and I sit there, rocking him, so lost and
confused. “Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” I hold him close to me as he
grips to me for dear life and I have to ask again. “King, what’s wrong?”

“She left me.”

“Who?” I’m confused by his statement.

“Ever, she’s gone.”

“No, baby, I’m right here.”

Taking his face into the palms of my hands, I try and
look into his eyes, wiping his cheeks dry. To prove to him that it’s me. But he
turns his head to the side and won’t look at me. Clinging to him, worried to
see him like this, so broken, we sit there, together, under the stars of the
night sky. My body hurts from gripping onto him and from the concrete beneath
us, but I don’t dare move a muscle in fear of what will happen…

Waking up in a panic, the reality of my life crashes back
down around me. Checking the clock, it’s been almost twenty-four hours since
King went missing and I’m scared. Scared for him and what he’s going through or
has gone through.

Holding his pillow as tight as I can, the tears roll out of
me and I’m really not sure what to do; I wish he were here with me. He’d make
everything better.

I imagine him swimming, fighting to survive. What if a shark
finds him? My insides heat with fretfulness as I’m reminded he doesn’t have
super human strength; there is only so much the body can handle. He hasn’t
eaten, or had anything to drink, or had his meds in over a day and…suddenly
everything becomes too much. Climbing out of his bed as fast as I can, I barely
make it to the bathroom before getting sick. The bile burns my throat as I
throw up.

Tears burn my eyes and I need King…I want him home. I want
to make things right with us. Resting back on the wall as I huddle my knees to
my chest, Galinda appears in the doorway.

“I brought you some tea,” she says looking down at me and I
give her the best smile I can conjure up.

“Thanks.”

“Did you sleep?” she asks.

“Yeah, a little. I had some crazy dreams…” I sob and she
sits next to me, holding me against her.

“It’s okay,” she reassures me, somehow being so strong
through all of this.

“They are going to find him, right?”

“Absolutely. King is a fighter. That is one thing I know
about him – he won’t give up.”

“Then why did he do this?”

“I’m not sure that even King knows that.”

“Galinda, that’s scary.”

“His disease can be scary. I’ve called his psychologist so
when they find him, she can come and talk to King and hopefully give us all
some answers. But in the meantime, you have to take care of yourself. Stay
strong and positive. King is going to need you…especially you, to get through
this.”

I nod, knowing that I am the reason he did this. I made him
a promise that I broke and that is what set him off…it has to be. Granted, I
didn’t know he was sick, but had I known, I probably would’ve handled it
differently.

Getting off the floor, Galinda helps me up and hands me the
tea she made me. Taking it downstairs, I find my dad making breakfast, and he
says, “Morning kiddo.”

“Hey, Dad.”

I sit back and look around King’s house. So many images of
us together, laughing and having a good time, float through my mind that I find
it hard to stay in the moment as I can almost envision him sitting next to me,
and that makes me very nervous.

Is he gone? Did he die and he’s here with us now? My
internal temperature rises and I blink rapidly.  No…no…no…he can’t be
gone. Rushing out of the house and to the back, I slump to my knees at the edge
of the cliff, looking out at the blue water.

Where are you, King?

 
I search the area, scanning far and wide, a
chopper is still off in the distance, and I hope they find him soon. They have
to…I can’t lose him. I can’t.