Picture Perfect (Butler Island)

by Nikki Rittenberry

  “Like hell you are”, he said as he steered her toward the wood pilings beneath the pier.

  “C’mon, Jarrod—it’s over. I know who you are and soon, everyone else will, too.”

  In one swift motion, he turned her around and then shoved her body back against the wood piling, sandwiching her between his body and the solid structure. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. You see, you’re not gonna be around to tell anyone about what I’ve done.”

  “Damn it, Jarrod—what’re you gonna do?—kill me?” she asked breathlessly.

  Jarrod caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I may be a lot of things, sweetheart, but I’m not a murderer. I know you may not believe this, but I never meant to hurt you—”

  “You left me lying in a puddle of my own blood, Jarrod.”

  “I know”, he admitted softly as he closed his eyes. “That’s not how it was supposed to happen. I never wanted to hurt you, but you kept fighting me.” His eyes opened. “I had no choice.”

  “And now…?” she inquired.

  “Now, you have to leave town”, he informed her, “tonight. You’re gonna lose contact with everyone on this island: your brother, Kendall and especially Womack… Indefinitely.”

  “And what happens if I don’t?”

  “Oh, you will. You see”—he began as one of his fingertips traced an invisible line down her right cheek—“I’m real good at planting evidence. And wouldn’t it be a shame to find out that your boyfriend’s been setting the town ablaze in order to collect some much-needed overtime to renovate his beloved beach house…”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “To save my ass from going to jail?—I most certainly would…”

  Grant had been searching along the pier for several minutes when he suddenly came to a halt. Olivia’s expression at the saloon was a familiar one: it was the same alarm and anxiety he’d observed during her nightmare last week when she’d stayed with him…

  “Holy shit”, he mumbled. Jarrod was the arsonist!

  Panicked, he removed his phone from his front pocket and dialed 911. And when the call had been made, he hurried down the stairs that led to the beach. He just prayed he hadn’t realized Jarrod’s identity too late.

  “So this was all about money?” she asked incredulously.

  “It’s what makes the world go round…”

  At that moment, his hard expression softened. And she was finally able to detect that Jarrod was afraid, too.

  “I have gambling debts to settle. I owe a lot of money to a very scary man—scarier than me”, he admitted.

  “If it’s money you need, I’ll give it to you… I have a trust fund—you can have it—all of it! Please, Jarrod, don’t make me walk away from my family!” Tears were stinging the back of her eyes. She didn’t want to release them—didn’t want to reveal any outward signs of weakness—but wasn’t able to hold back.

  “I have to”, he uttered softly.

  “No, Jarrod. I won’t tell another soul—you have my word! Please, don’t make me do this!”

  Jarrod palmed the sides of her face; took in her beauty. Olivia had captivated him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Just then, the clouds shifted, revealing the luminous half moon. It was then that he saw her tears, saw the fear in her eyes, comprehended the brutality of what he was asking.

  “As much as I want to believe you, Olivia, I can’t take the risk. I know—” He paused for a moment: a crescendo of sirens. “Fuck! How did you do that?”

  “What, Jarrod?—I didn’t do anything, I swear!” she sobbed.

  “I’m sorry, Blondie. I’m so sorry”, he uttered softly as he pressed his lips against hers.

  The police sirens had caught her by surprise—and so had the kiss. And then as he pulled away, he looked into her eyes and she saw it: fear, panic, regret. He was moments away from captivity, moments away from his worst nightmare.

  Kissing Olivia was heavenly. He was finally able to taste her, to commit it to memory. Her soft, plump lips felt amazing pressed against his. For as long as he lived, he would remember this.

  The sirens were getting louder: it was now or never…

  Reluctantly, he pulled away and tightened his grip on her face. God, he didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. He drove her head back against the wood piling and winced when he heard her skull strike against the solid structure. And then without a backward glance, he sprinted…

  A piercing scream had Grant racing toward the pilings underneath the boardwalk. It seemed as though he was running in place—which was completely absurd; his feet were pounding the powdery sand so swiftly, he was convinced he could probably dash across the calm Gulf water and remain afloat.

  Moments later, he saw her: hovering above the sand on all fours.

  “Livvy!” he called out as he collapsed onto his knees beside her. The back of her head glistened against the faint moonlight as blood saturated her honey-blonde hair. “Jesus, Livvy, what the hell did he do to you?”

  Olivia gripped his shirt as he assisted her upright. “Grant?” she asked confusedly.

  God, she looked pale—even in the dim moonlight, he could see: the color had drained from her angelic face. “I’m right here, baby.”

  “My…my head hurts”, she uttered, just above a whisper.

  “Did Jarrod do this to you?” He watched as Olivia closed her eyes and nodded her head. Damn it! If only he’d listened to his gut sooner. He could have prevented this; could’ve protected her.

  “It was Jarrod James!” Grant shouted as the town’s three deputies on duty raced toward them.

  “Any idea which way he went?” one of them asked as they approached.

  “Livvy”, Grant uttered as he palmed the sides of her face, “did you see which way he went?”

  Olivia nodded cautiously and pointed down the beach toward the marina. The deputies sprinted away from them with their weapons drawn. She watched until their black uniforms disappeared into the dark night. And then she turned her attention to Grant.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. And as if her body sensed the safety of his arms, her eyes closed and serenity prevailed.

  CHAPTER 22

  Grant exited the gift shop and boarded the elevator with a large bouquet of pale pink roses in hand. Reluctantly, he’d left the hospital last night at the urging of Olivia’s nurse. Olivia was only allowed one overnight guest, and he wasn’t about to ask Ty to forfeit his privileges. He’d been told that visiting hours would resume at nine o’clock sharp the following morning and as he glanced at his watch, he acknowledged he was right on time.

  The elevator opened to the second floor and Grant pointed his feet toward the extended corridor that led to Olivia’s room. He thought back to the last time he’d been here, the morning after her first attack. He hadn’t known what to expect then—knew only that she’d been badly injured.

  He’d been reeling from the incredible evening he’d had with her when Ty had phoned him that morning. Back then, he didn’t have a face to direct his anger toward; now he did: Jarrod fucking James!

  Why hadn’t he put two and two together sooner? It made perfect sense now: James’ multiple absences from poker night, his frequent trips to the dog track just outside of Pensacola, his prompt arrival to every fire—and let’s not forget—his fascination with Olivia.

  Jarrod had torched thousands of dollars worth of private property and had nearly killed Olivia in the process…

  Over gambling debts.

  Grant shook his head as the realization sunk in. He would have gladly loaned the money to Jarrod had he known how desperate he was to get his hands on it.

  Luckily, Jarrod had been apprehended last night; charged with seven counts of arson and two counts of aggravated battery.

  Sedating his lungs with a gallon of oxygen, Grant nudged the door to Olivia’s room open…

  The room was empty and from the looks of it, it had been for some time.

  Retracing his steps,
he moved toward the nurses’ station and caught the attention of a kind, elderly R.N. “Excuse me, has Olivia Everitt been moved? I just went to the room she was in last night, but it was empty.”

  “The cute lil’ blonde with that nasty gash on the back of her head?” she questioned.

  “That’s the one.”

  “She checked herself out against Dr. Conrad’s orders—”

  “—When?”

  “Oh, I don’t know—three—maybe four hours ago.”

  A peculiar phenomenon had washed over him; after meandering through the hospital parking lot in search of his truck, he’d had what could only be described as an “out-of-body experience.” He vaguely remembered the drive to Ty and Olivia’s. It was almost like he was hovering above his body, like his mind was completely detached from his physical self. He couldn’t say for certain which route he’d taken or how long he’d been on the road. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was sitting behind the wheel of his oversized Ford pick-up, idling in Ty and Olivia’s driveway.

  After exiting his truck, he drifted toward the front door and pounded on the dense wood with his fist.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded as Ty answered the door. “I just left the hospital and they said she checked herself out!”

  “Good morning to you, too, bro”, he uttered sarcastically. “Have a seat; we need to talk.”

  Ah, hell, this couldn’t be good, Grant acknowledged. He knew Ty wasn’t happy about his relationship with Olivia. He expected Ty’s anger and disappointment: it wasn’t exactly breaking news that his best friend was furious at him for secretly dating his little sister. But what he soon realized, after situating himself on the red leather sofa, was that Ty’s anger and disappointment was no longer directed at him: it was now focused on Olivia.

  “So, you just left the hospital, huh?” Ty asked nonchalantly as he blew into his steaming coffee mug.

  “Yeah—what the hell’s going on? Where is she?” Grant demanded.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?—what do you mean?”

  “Liv got a call just after midnight from one of her photographer friends. Apparently, there was a ski lift collapse at a resort in Northern New Hampshire. She… jumped at the chance to photograph it.”

  “She’s in no condition to travel—why didn’t you try to stop her?”

  Ty took a sip of coffee and nearly choked as he stifled a laugh. “Are you serious? You know Liv—she doesn’t take orders very well; ‘bout the only way I could’ve made her stay was have the hospital staff strap her to her bed!”

  Grant leaned forward, resting his elbows on his lap. Ty was right. But that didn’t make the news of her sudden disappearance any easier. “Alright, so when will she be back?”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing—I’m not really sure when or if she’s planning on coming back.”

  “Cut the bullshit, bro—what do you mean if?”

  Ty exhaled a puff of air and set his coffee mug on the adjacent glass end table. “Before she left, she asked me to visit her in New Orleans for New Year’s… January second is her birthday…”

  Grant slid the palm of his hand down the contours of his face, but his frustration still remained. “No offense”, he uttered softly, “but your sister drives me fucking crazy sometimes.”

  “None taken.”

  “I just don’t get it. Why would she just up and leave like that?—without even saying goodbye?”

  Rising from his seat, Ty sauntered toward the bar and reached for Olivia’s portfolio. “She left in such a hurry, she forgot this. I think you’ll find your answer in here”, he clarified as he gently tossed it toward Grant.

  “What’s this?—her diary or somethin’?” Grant questioned.

  “Well, sort of: she calls it her personal portfolio. Take a look.”

  Opening the album, Grant stared at an all-American family: The Everitt’s. The beautiful little girl sitting on her father’s lap, gazing into the camera without a care in the world…

  Turning the page, he came upon two newspaper clippings: one that depicted the tragic accident that ended the lives of Olivia’s parents, and the obituary that’d reduced their lives to a tiny paragraph.

  He continued through the book, skimming over various achievements, milestones, and significant moments from her past. It intrigued him that a child who’d lost her parents could rebound and grow into such a fascinating young woman. But then again, that was Olivia: strong willed, tenacious, courageous. And oh-so beautiful.

  Turning the page, he stumbled upon a newspaper article from The New Orleans Tribune, dated July of last year:

  Local Respected Dentist Refused to Smile in

  Scandalous Mug Shot.

  “What’s this?” he questioned as he gestured toward the article.

  “Remember when I took some time off last year to visit Liv in New Orleans?” Ty asked as he reached for his forgotten coffee mug.

  “Yeah—Fourth of July, right?”

  Ty settled in the red leather club chair wedged in the corner of the room and took a sip of his now tepid coffee. “Yeah, it was. But I wasn’t in town to watch the city’s fireworks display… Liv needed me.”

  “She’d gone on this blind date with a well-known dentist: well-known for his talent as well as his good looks. Anyhow, the guy was a real Casanova: took her to a classy French Quarter restaurant; ordered a bottle of expensive red wine; said all the right things…”

  Shifting a bit in his seat, Ty went on. “She realized she’d probably had too much to drink. She excused herself from the table and went to the ladies room, hoping that a wet paper towel on her face and neck would sober her up a bit… He… followed her into the restroom and snuck up behind her. And then—”

  “He didn’t—”

  “No”, Ty confirmed, “He didn’t get the chance, thank God. Some drunk guy stumbled into the wrong bathroom and interrupted the bastard… The dentist was arrested that evening and several days after the news became public, four other women came forward with similar stories…”

  Grant sat motionless for several moments as the details from yet another tragic event in Olivia’s life sunk in. How much hardship could a person endure before they broke in two?

  “Liv built a wall after that. She was heavily guarded before that night, but after…?” Ty shook his head. “Sometimes I wondered if she’d ever allow anyone to get close to her again… Then she met you.”

  “Me?” Grant asked incredulously.

  “Yeah”, Ty answered on a sigh, “turn the page.”

  Gently sliding his fingertips beneath the upper right-hand corner of the thick cardstock, he turned the page, smiling at one of his fondest memories: chasing after Olivia on the beach earlier last month. He hadn’t noticed the first time she’d shown him this picture, but he clearly saw it now: pure felicity.

  At that moment in time, her mind was free; free from the memories that’d haunted her; unshackled from the weight of her burdens; content.

  “I figured the two of you were just hangin’ out—messin’ around. I had no idea how serious it was… She only adds the most significant things to this album—the good and the bad—and when I saw this picture, I knew.”

  “Knew what?” Grant inquired.

  “She’s in love with you.”

  Grant closed the portfolio and placed it on the couch beside him. Resting his elbows on his lap, he brought his hands to his face and tented his fingertips together into a point. “Don’t be ridiculous—she doesn’t love me. She fucking left without so much as a goodbye and apparently has no intention of coming back!”

  “Have you heard a damn thing I just said?” Ty asked as he rose from his chair. “She loves you and that scares the piss out of her because every person she’s ever cared about has abandoned her in some way or fashion—me included! The wittiness and tough-girl exterior are nothing more than a defense mechanism: a façade. Because truthfully, inside, she’s still that vulnerable and terrified nine year old li
ttle girl I picked up eighteen years ago…”

  Running his fingers through his hair, Grant expelled a puff of air from his lungs before meeting Ty’s curious gaze. “So what am I supposed to do now?”

  Ty shrugged his shoulders. “Depends—do you love her?”

  “More than anything”, he uttered softly.

  Ty smiled in spite of himself. It was clear how Olivia felt about Grant, and after talking with his best friend, Ty was convinced that Grant felt the same way for her. Although he was still upset that they’d gone behind his back, he couldn’t fault the guy for loving her. And he certainly couldn’t allow her stubbornness to stand in the way of her long-awaited fairytale ending.

  “Here’s whatcha do—I have a plan…”

  CHAPTER 23

  It’d been two days since Olivia had come home to New Orleans; two days since her friends had practically hauled her to the French Quarter to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of the next.

  She’d been standing in front of Jackson’s Square, surrounded by thousands of tourists and locals. And the irony of the situation: she’d never felt more alone. She’d managed to make it all the way ‘til ten-thirty that evening, and then lied to her friends about not feeling well. Thirty minutes later, a taxi had dropped her off in front of the guest house she rented in the Garden District.

  She’d missed the colorful firework display over the mighty Mississippi River; had instead watched the ball drop from Times Square on TV. Alone.

  Completely alone.

  She was so afraid—petrified—of love. Allowing herself to be happy could only result in disaster—always had—probably always would. She had accepted it a long time ago; had conceded that she’d never experience “happily ever after.” And the funny thing was: she’d been okay with it.

  Until Grant.