Picture Perfect (Butler Island) Read online

  Picture Perfect

  Nikki Rittenberry

  NJR

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Nikki Rittenberry

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be stored, reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means without express written permission by the author. www.nikkirittenberry.com

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-0615580951

  For Jillian, Ashley, and Amy:

  My biggest cheerleaders

  Thank you for your unconditional friendship and unyielding support. And most of all, thank you for accepting my many imperfections.

  “The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”

  —Anna Quindlen

  Picture Perfect

  PROLOGUE

  “And this is going to be your room”, Ty said as he opened the door.

  Olivia glanced around the room for a moment and then slowly walked to the full-size bed positioned in front of the window. She placed her duffel bag on the worn Dukes of Hazard comforter from Ty’s childhood and gradually unzipped it, revealing her most prized possessions.

  “The moving truck should be here in a couple days and then we can redecorate this room with all of your stuff.” Ty watched as his little sister carefully unpacked her collection of Beanie Babies, lining them along the edge of the bed against the wall, organizing them in a specific pattern that only she could decipher.

  “You’re really going to love it here; we’re only five blocks from the beach. The water’s finally warming up, too. By this time next month the temperature should reach into the upper seventies…”

  The duffel bag had become deflated now that the Beanie Babies were freed. Olivia reached into the nylon material and retrieved a framed portrait of her parents. She gazed at the picture for a few long beats and then gently placed the frame on the adjacent oak nightstand.

  That simple gesture tore his heart into a million little pieces. No child should have to endure the kind of grief that his little sister had. It’d been almost three weeks since he’d received the dreaded call that both his parents had been killed in a horrific car accident after leaving a restaurant in downtown Atlanta. He’d driven six torturous hours after that call to be by his little sister’s side, all the while trying to imagine how a nine year old little girl would cope with such a devastating loss.

  He’d arrived with the expectation that he’d have to comfort a hysterical and emotionally unstable little girl; instead he encountered a child who seemed devoid of emotions almost entirely. At the funeral it was she who’d consoled loved ones and friends of the family. In fact—as far as he knew—she hadn’t shed a single tear. The social worker assigned to their case had assured him that “everyone grieves differently”, and her method—as strange as it seemed—was actually quite common.

  It was important to him that Olivia was loved and nurtured. Fearing that she would be thrown into the system, raised by strangers, he’d submitted paperwork to become her legal guardian. It wasn’t exactly the scenario he’d pictured for himself; he’d graduated from the fire academy last fall and had moved to Butler Island, Florida five months ago after he’d been hired by their small fire department. He didn’t make a lot of money, but he had great benefits, a roof over his head, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility for his new circumstances.

  “You don’t have a thing to worry about. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you with me and I promise I’ll never leave you…”

  Olivia looked up at her older brother and nodded, and then recited a silent prayer that the courts would grant him permanent guardianship. He was all she had and the sudden awareness terrified her. She knew he’d be giving up the one thing that most nineteen year olds’ long for: independence. He was risking the best years of his life to take care of her and she didn’t take that lightly. She’d decided she was going to walk the straight and narrow, refusing to give Ty a reason to regret his selfless decision to take care of her.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked in her adorable southern accent. “I can make us a bowl of grits—it’s my specialty.”

  Ty chuckled softly under his breath. Her world had been turned upside down and yet she was at it again: attempting to comfort him when it was she that clearly needed comforting. Their parents were dead. Gone forever. But he and Olivia were still very much alive. Somehow, he needed to guide her through this unimaginable time in her life and attempt to restore some sense of normalcy. So if making her specialty grits accomplished that—who was he to argue?

  “A big bowl of grits sounds great…”

  CHAPTER 1

  Olivia Everitt glanced at the interstate sign.

  “Thirty more miles”, she mumbled softly under her breath. She’d left her apartment in New Orleans just before rush hour and had pointed her black Mini Cooper east on I-10 toward the Florida Panhandle. It’d been nine long years since she’d been home. She’d left Butler Island two days after she’d graduated high school and never looked back. Her good grades had landed her a full scholarship at a small college in Northern Louisiana where she’d studied her passion: photography.

  The freedom to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice was one of the things she loved most about being a freelance photographer. She answered to no one and only pursued the projects that piqued her interests. Her first big break came three years ago after a devastating cluster of tornadoes demolished a small town just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas in early ‘08. She’d captured a photograph of a little girl with her back turned, standing on a mound of rumble, clutching her filthy baby doll against her side. The black and white photograph had made the cover of Adversity Magazine, well-known for documenting disasters, both natural and man-made. Since then she’d traveled the country, following catastrophe where ever it reared its ugly head.

  Olivia down-shifted and steered her car away from the interstate, merging onto the desolate two-lane road that led to the slow-paced life of Butler Island. The winding road carved a path through the colossal pine forest, her surroundings seemingly unchanged since the last time she’d traveled it. This was the segment of Florida that most of the country was unaware of: far from the vain atmosphere of South Beach, hundreds of miles from the tourist traps of Orlando, and secluded from the nightlife of Panama City Beach. Traveling this road gave visitors a glimpse into how the area must have looked to settlers centuries ago: unmarred, serene, divine.

  The decision to return home had been a spur-of-the-moment one. During her weekly Wednesday night conversation with Ty the night before, she’d discovered that his estranged wife, Cameron, had served him with divorce papers. It was no surprise to Olivia, but she couldn’t exactly say the same about her brother.

  Cameron was what the town called a “part-time local.” Her family visited every year at the beginning of the summer and returned to their real home in Illinois by summers’ end. Six years ago Cameron had been in town for a family reunion and had managed to get the heel of her stiletto wedged between two boards while walking on the pier. She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle just as Ty was leaving the local saloon. Always a perfect gentleman, Ty dislodged her designer shoe and assisted her to her feet. They’d spent the next few weeks together and had made a surprisingly spontaneous decision to marry.

  The news of his marriage had come as a shock to Olivia—their brief courtship incapable of predicting their compa
tibility. He’d overextended himself to make Cameron happy: remodeling their home, installing a pool, purchasing a flashy sports car. In the end his efforts weren’t enough. Several months ago she’d been having coffee with a friend at the local café when she’d spotted a good-looking executive in town for the annual Oyster Festival. The celebration was the island’s only claim to fame, attracting locals and tourists from out of state. She’d had an affair with the visiting businessman and three days later, packed her bags and headed north, leaving behind a farewell letter and her two karat diamond ring.

  Olivia knew that he’d been secretly holding out hope that Cameron would return home, however the sudden arrival of the divorce documents painfully signaled to Ty the finality of their separation. His world was unraveling. Although he would never outwardly admit it, he needed his little sister. He’d made a selfless decision to take care of her eighteen years ago and now it was time for her to return the favor.

  “Welcome home”, she mumbled as she crossed the Mainland Bridge that led to Butler Island. The town was dark and eerily quiet. She thought about what she’d be doing if she was back in New Orleans: at ten-thirty at night, the Crescent City would just be coming to life. Butler Island took pride in its slow-paced lifestyle: the annual Oyster Festival and Winter Fest were traditionally the biggest news stories of the year. Not so great for a photographer who specialized in capturing tragedy and devastation, but Ty had nonchalantly mentioned there’d been a slew of fires the previous month and a half that had been ruled suspicious. It wasn’t national breaking news exactly, but in her island hometown that was probably as good as it would get.

  The vehicle rolled to a stop underneath the covered carport and after taking a deep breath, Olivia emerged from behind the wheel and grabbed her luggage. Once the front door was opened she stepped inside and slid her fingers up the wall in search of the light switch. Flipping the switch upward she let out a gasp… This was the home she’d grown up in since the age of nine and she didn’t recognize this place one iota.

  “Sweet baby Jesus”, she muttered as she glanced around the redecorated living room. Their old denim-covered couch had been replaced with a sleek, red leather sectional and the white coffee table she’d spent countless hours coloring on as a kid had been replaced with a hefty, glass-top table.

  The kitchen was utterly unrecognizable as well: the outdated oak cabinetry was now painted a deep shade of gray, contrasting vividly against the white marble countertop. Appliances were stainless steel and the floor was comprised of slate. The sliding glass door had been replaced by French doors, which led to a covered patio and a rectangular-shaped pool.

  Olivia retraced her steps back into the living room and picked up her luggage before making the journey down the hall to her bedroom. She flipped the switch and stood in awe. Everything was… exactly how she’d left it nine years ago.

  She smiled in spite of herself. The entire house had received a facelift and yet Ty had purposely left this room untouched. That had most likely infuriated Cameron, but proved to her that Ty was still hopeful that one day his sister would return.

  The pink satin comforter was strewn over the antique canopy bed along with a handful of Beanie Babies she’d kept from her childhood. A swell of emotion erupted from the pit of her stomach and she blinked back the moisture as it attempted to escape her eyes. Having been gone for so many years she was uncertain how it would feel to be back. And as she collapsed onto the mattress in front of her she admitted it felt good. Oh so good!

  Ty steered his truck onto the deserted two-lane road, the island’s only fire station in his rearview mirror. He’d spent every third night here for the past eighteen years; most of those nights had been peaceful. Unfortunately that was no longer the case.

  Four fires—in six weeks… that was no coincidence.

  Last night’s fire completely engulfed the abandoned, wood-frame home on Whippoorwill Lane. So far, the arsonist had only torched forsaken structures—and yes, they were most certainly dealing with an arsonist—but what would happen when the pyromaniac ran out of deserted properties to torch?

  Lives would be in danger.

  After returning to the station early this morning, he’d been greeted by the Mayor.

  “If anyone asks, this fire is ‘suspicious’—nothing more, nothing less. Are we clear?” he’d said. “The last thing we need to do is unnecessarily alarm the town’s residents.”

  Ty wondered how much longer this charade would last. Sure, Butler Island was a small town with a population of roughly a thousand residents, but they weren’t ignorant. They were honest folks and they deserved to know the truth: there was a criminal among them. But that wasn’t his call to make—it was Mayor Cliffburg’s. So until Ty was told differently, he’d repeat the rehearsed explanation and pray the fire-starter was apprehended before a real tragedy occurred.

  His commute from the station to his home on Gulf Court had only taken roughly three minutes, and as he pulled into the driveway, he wondered if maybe the physical and mental exhaustion from last night’s fire was finally taking its toll: a black Mini Cooper was parked underneath the carport. No one on the small island drove that particular make and model, which could only mean one thing: his little sister had finally come home.

  “Olivia… Olivia!” Ty shouted as he charged through the front door. The fatigue he’d felt moments before subsided, replaced by an overwhelming surge of anticipation. The revelation of her presence had restored his energy like a liberal dose of caffeine. He’d practically leapt from his truck upon making the discovery and surged through the front door in search of her.

  “Surprise”, she announced as she emerged from the hallway. They rushed toward one another and embraced for almost a minute before pulling away, the silence oddly comforting.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here!” he finally declared. “You know, you could have told me you were coming.”

  “What and ruin this reception?—not a chance!”

  “When did you get in?”

  “Late last night. I thought maybe I had the wrong house”, she said as she glanced around the room. “Everything looks so…”

  “Different”, he offered.

  “Well, yeah, but I was going to say urban chic.”

  Ty chuckled under his breath. “Okaaay, whatever that means… So, how long are you here for?”

  Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “For a good while, I guess.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

  After receiving a guided tour of the recently renovated house, she made another surprising discovery: the concrete storage building in the backyard that’d been converted into a darkroom in high school had been left untouched as well. She was moved by his unwillingness to alter her existence from this house and felt a sudden twinge of guilt for waiting as long as she had to return.

  The darkroom discovery prompted Olivia to do something she hadn’t done in a while: photograph something other than devastation. She’d driven five blocks and parked her Mini Cooper in the public lot before removing her shoes and reaching for her camera. The air was saturated with salt and as she descended down the wood steps, she inhaled the nostalgic aroma. The warm gulf breeze collided against her body as her toes sunk into the powdery sand and without hesitation, she raised her camera to her face and began snapping pictures of the horizon as she blindly walked forward.

  She’d been walking for less than a minute before the first small wave reached her toes and a sudden fiery sensation swept across the top of her foot. Olivia tore the camera from her face and looked down as the plump, translucent jellyfish was helplessly carried away by the receding wave. She stumbled and fell to her knees in pain, almost dropping her expensive camera in the process. One quick look around only further heightened the hysteria—the entire beach was littered with jellyfish. She’d been so distracted by the beautiful scenery that she hadn’t noticed the slimy sea creatures until now. In fact, it was a miracle she hadn’t stepped on one before she’
d reached the water.

  The pain was becoming more intense with every passing moment, her skin searing from the fiery sting. She cried out in agony just as two strong arms hoisted her to her feet from behind.

  “You Ok?”

  “Oh, I’m just hunkey dorey!—you?” she asked as the large hands gripped her waist and spun her around. She came face to face with her rescuer… all six-foot, broad-shouldered inch of him.

  Grant looked down at the beautiful, blonde stranger he held in his arms and smiled. The thick southern twang in her voice assuring him she wasn’t from around here. “That’s a pretty nasty sting you have there.”

  “Yeah—since when did this beach get invaded with those slimy lil’ suckers?”

  He chuckled under his breath. Slimy lil’ suckers? “The tropical storm brought them in.”

  “But it didn’t even make landfall”, she reiterated.

  “It didn’t have to. The winds stir up the current and wash them ashore.”

  “Oh.”

  “Listen”, he said as he gestured toward her foot, “we need to get you fixed up before all the toxins are released—”

  “—Jesus, Joseph, and Mary—you’re not gonna pee on my foot are you? Because if that’s what you’re plannin’, then I’m gonna have to object. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Grant felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a wide grin. She became more adorable and more beautiful every time she spoke. “No—I’m not going to pee on you.” He pointed to the raised beach house behind her. “That’s my house over there. I can have you fixed up in no time.”

  Olivia glanced over her shoulder at the beach house and then back at the handsome tattooed-man still holding on to her waist. “I can’t do that.”