by LK Collins
“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.
Chapter 27
“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 ahold 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 on to 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.
Chapter 28
It’s been thirty-three hours and the sickening feeling inside of me is terrible. The agony and regret that live within are horrific as the realization that King may never be found weighs down on me like a ton of bricks. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to strive forward or move on or do anything.
Sitting in the same spot on the edge of the cliff as I did this morning, I can’t bear to move. I can’t. I have to find him, and my eyes keep playing tricks on me, making it very, very hard. Every wave that caps white, I think is him and I study it, my heart racing, only to be let down.
If only I could turn back time in my life, I would do it now…without a doubt. Because I’m not sure how I’m going to live knowing the weight of his disappearance is because of me.
“Ever,” my dad shouts, running out of the house, and I look back at him as he is winded, but says the words I have been praying for, “They found him.” My heart rate jumps to Mach speed, my body reawakens, and I run to him.
“They did?” I ask so hopeful, but so scared. My face contorts, terrified, and I have to know. “Is he…” I swallow and put my hand over my mouth, holding back the bitterness that is resting at the back of my throat.
“All we know is he’s alive.”
I fly past him, running down the lawn and up the stairs of the house like a circus freak. Galinda is on the phone and I grab his keys, knowing his car will get us to him fastest. Turning towards her, she hangs up and I ask, “Where is he?” needing to be with him, so badly.
“St. Mary’s.” I unlock his car, we all pile in, and take off. Pulling out of the gate, the news reporters spot us, cameras flash, and video recorders roll. But I focus on driving as adrenaline fills me and I race to the hospital as fast as I can.