The Mentor (Necessary Lies Book 1) (14 page)

Declan’s summer in Charleston had not been part of his master plan.

And what was the plan? What it had always been – make money, travel the world, suck the marrow out of life, and forget about the past. And each day and year he’d gotten further away from that past had been such a relief. The pain from it still shrouded him, but the baggage was getting lighter and lighter with each passing day.

Until his father got sick.

So he’d come back, as a good son does. And as an only child, he had little choice. There were no other DeGraffs left to take care of the patriarch, so Declan returned home for the summer so he wouldn’t have to live with anymore regret in his life.

When he’d first seen his father, it had taken everything in him not to show the shock he felt at how skinny the old man had become. Cancer was insidious enough, but pancreatic cancer was a whole other monster. Henry DeGraff had always been a barrel-chested, powerhouse of a man. But his illness had turned him into something different. He was incredibly thin, his skin sallow, blue veins forming rivers up his scrawny arms and legs. Declan had needed a moment by himself to take in what he’d just seen.

His father would not be getting out of this battle alive.

His father’s mansion on Meeting Street was almost two hundred years old and badly in need of renovations. Declan had planned on redoing it completely as a surprise for Henry, but once he’d realized how sick his father was, that plan went out the window.

Why redo something his father would never live to see to completion?

It was all too much to take in. Not to mention his father being ornery as hell and firing every nurse Declan hired for him. So Declan had escaped to his yacht the past week and tried to drink his troubles away. He hadn’t been one to look for answers in the bottom of a bottle in almost a decade, but this seemed like as good a time as any to become a borderline drunk.

Declan had enjoyed his brunch at the yacht club with Winston, ending their meal with one of the best Bloody Mary’s he’d ever consumed.

“You heading home?” Winston asked as they walked out into the parking lot towards Declan’s Range Rover.

“Hell no,” Declan replied. “I was thinking of heading to Sullivan’s to check out the new digs.”

Declan had bought a home on Sullivan’s Island shortly after he arrived and realized the gravity of Henry’s situation, and that he might be in the Holy City for more than a couple days; or even months. The yacht was okay for a little while, but Declan needed space and a view. The 6,000 square foot beach front mansion on Sullivan’s provided both.

“You closed on it already?” Winston asked.

“Yep. It was vacant and I paid cash. So she’s all mine,” Declan smiled as he put a pair of Aviator sunglasses over his blue eyes.

“Must be nice,” Winston chuckled. “That house is one of the most expensive on the Charleston market.”

“
Was
the most,” Declan corrected him. “But it’s all relative.”

“When you’re worth almost two billion dollars I guess spending eight figures on a house is just a drop in the bucket,” Winston pulled the Audi keys out of his pocket. “You’ve come a long way since our Kappa Sig days.”

Declan shrugged, “I would hope so.”

Winston slapped his friend on the back, “And you’ve gone through a lot of ladies since your Charlotte days.”

Just hearing her name almost made Declan’s heart stop.

“Why would you even mention her?” Declan asked. “That was almost ten years ago.”

Winston could tell he’d overstepped, “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize it was still a sore subject.”

Now Declan was pissed, “Who said it was? It’s just fucked up to mention her when she hasn’t been a part of my life for so long.”

Winston’s smile faded, “I’m sorry, man. Really. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”

Declan sighed, “Try to remember not to do it again.”

And with that, Declan turned away from his car and headed back toward the dock and the yacht, where a whole wet bar of bourbon awaited him.

Charlotte Sanders wasn’t in the best mood the day she first met Declan DeGraff.

First of all, it was hotter than Hell itself. By late May in Charleston, South Carolina, being outside is like trying to walk and breathe through wet cotton.

Second of all, she’d just been advised by her roommate that she was going to need to find a new place to live. Charlotte’s roommate, Allyn Legare, was an uppity sorority girl who wanted to live with her boyfriend for the summer.

“I mean, your lease is up anyway,” Allyn had said. “And Russell and I are ready to take it to the next level, you know?”

“I mean, you’re giving me no notice,” Charlotte said, trying not to raise her voice to match how she felt inside. “If I’d I would have to move out, I would have made arrangements months ago. It’s going to be almost impossible to find a place now.”

Allyn shrugged, “Sorry. It is what it is, you know?”

Charlotte had never been a violent person, but she wanted to punch Allyn in the face.

“Our place is two bedrooms,” Charlotte said. “I’m assuming you two would share one. I don’t mind him moving in, it would actually make rent cheaper for everyone if there was three of us.”

Allyn looked at Charlotte confused, “You know I don’t pay my own rent. Daddy handles all that. Besides, I want to turn your room into a big walk-in closet.”

Charlotte sighed. Of course. Girls like Allyn didn’t have to worry about the same things girls like Charlotte did.

“Okay,” Charlotte said, standing up from the futon they’d been sitting on. “Guess I should start figuring this out.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Allyn said, sounding anything but.

********

At the same moment, a few blocks over, Declan DeGraff was visiting his parents.

He was basking on the balcony of his parents' house on Meeting Street. It was May and his exams had ended the week before. Declan was a free man for the summer.

His father had flown out of town with some of his old fraternity brothers for a "man's weekend away" to Key West. Declan’s mother, Anna DeGraff, sat next to him in a wicker chair, sipping her sweet tea, fanning her perfectly applied face, talking about how much she was going to get done while her husband was gone. They were sitting there, a beautiful cliché of a moneyed, southern family.

"Saylor called today," Mama said, "She called yesterday too. When are you going to call that poor girl back?"

Saylor Embers was Declan’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. He had known her since before they were born, practically. Their mothers had gone to the University of Alabama together and both married old Charleston money. It was all very socially incestuous and forced, Saylor and Declan's relationship. She was a beautiful girl, yes. Probably one of the prettiest in South Carolina. She had legs for miles. Men would have turned their lives inside out just for her to smile in their direction. People couldn't help but look at her. She was raised to be admired, but at the same time to pretend she didn't notice.

But she knew. Which led to her having an almost insufferable personality in private. Over the past six months it had become completely horrible to be around her, alone anyway. Thus, the present "off" status of their relationship.

"I don't know. Maybe never. Maybe in five minutes. You know how it is with us," Declan said. His mother did know. Just this past Christmas she had to deal with Saylor's debutante ball. The event had made it clear to everyone that if Saylor was this demanding and monstrous for a damn coming-out party, she would be a beast whenever her wedding day approached. It was then that Declan knew he did not want to be on the other end of that deal. So he’d cooled it off with her. Pretty only gets you so far.
I think that's something women don't always realize,
Declan thought
. Being beautiful is a big, huge deal. But being pleasant to be around eventually becomes just as important. Particularly when you're the level of turbo bitch that Saylor could be.

"Well. Try to get back to her. I’m tired of screening my calls."

"I'll text her later. I don't know why she's calling the house."

They both sat quietly while a horse drawn carriage click-clacked by the house. Tourists in chinos, polo’s, and boat shoes sweated and snapped photos as the driver of the carriage lectured them on the age of the Vanderpage home (the DeGraff’s neighbors).

"It's the largest private residence in Charleston. A wedding gift for..." His voice trailed off as they sauntered by. Declan always felt so bad for the poor horses that had to pull those pasty people down this street every day. It couldn't be a fun gig in life.

It was the perfect day, other than the suffocating humidity. The plantation-style fans hummed above their very privileged heads. The DeGraffs’ housekeeper, Antonia, was setting out cold cuts in the kitchen. Anna DeGraff stirred the sweating pitcher of tea between them on what was a very overpriced serving cart Declan’s dad had bid too much on at one of his Sotheby auctions.

"You haven't really made plans for this summer, have you?" Anna's voice was slow and sweet. Declan watched as she tried to discreetly pour gin in her tea.

"Not so much. I’ll probably spend a bit of time at Sullivan’s,” he stretched his well-muscled calves and yawned. “Or just nap the months away.”

“You know, the house on Sullivan’s is getting renovated this summer, sugar. Didn’t Daddy tell you?” Anna crossed her ankles. “I don’t know why he thought summer of all times would be a good time for that, but such is the way of your daddy.”

Well, hell. The Sullivan’s Island house was the DeGraffs’ mansion on the beach, about 20 minutes from the Meeting Street house. Declan had spent every summer since birth lounging on the deck and shouting at beautiful women from the beachside pool. His Labor Day party at the end of summer was the event of the season. He hadn’t expected the renovations to be this summer. He’d just assumed they wouldn’t start until the fall. This was not what he wanted to hear.

“Have they started yet?” Maybe he could have Dad postpone the work. Declan didn’t know what his father could be thinking. He knew Declan pretty much lived full-time at Sullivan’s and Isle of Palms in the summer time.

“They started two weeks ago,” Anna burst his bubble. “I went by just the other day. All the floors are ripped up to hell.”

Declan stood up and looked over the balcony onto Meeting Street. A couple stood kissing in front of the Vanderpage gate. He’d seen that scene hundreds of times. Kissing couples, newlyweds, elderly couples, gay couples. People saw that gate and started dreaming about what it must be like to live in an old southern mansion, with no worries, the love of their life by their side.

Declan didn’t have to dream about it. He’d been living it his whole life. He couldn’t complain. It wasn’t all that horrible. There were worse destinies to have in life than being an old money, southern male. Much worse. He tried not to take it for granted like so many of his buddies did. If he feared anything, it was becoming one of those men who feel entitled, who enter places expecting to be known and catered to.

“I don’t mean to sound like an entitled rich kid but… I wish someone had told me that. All my buddies were planning on coming up for the fourth.”

Anna stared at Declan over the glass that she had just started refilling, “Well, I am sure y’all can come up with another plan. The world is at your Sperry–clad feet after all.”

Declan smiled, “I sound like a spoiled ass, huh?”

“Kind of,” his mother winked at him. “But that’s probably my fault. You’re my only baby and I’ve never wanted you to feel deprived.”

Declan sighed, “I suppose if not having a beach home for the summer is my biggest problem, I should probably reevaluate what I call problems.”

Anna put down her tea and stared at her son, “Since when did you get so self-aware?”

Declan shrugged, “I don’t know. Those bleeding heart liberal professors of mine must be getting into my head.” Declan winked at Anna and she laughed.

“Don’t let your daddy hear that,” Anna said. “He’ll stop donating.”

A breeze whipped by the porch, making the Spanish moss that hung from the live oaks in their yard sway. It was a perfect moment and Declan couldn’t help but be moved at the beauty surrounding him. That included his mother.

Declan adored his mother and was in many ways the only person who seemed to understand her. Despite the privilege and the money, his mother was like a character out of a Tennessee Williams play. There was a darkness and melancholy to her under the charming socialite disposition. Particularly in the last few years; Anna DeGraff was sneaking a lot of gin into her tea lately and Declan had found more pill bottles than a CVS in her bathroom when searching for her hidden bourbon stash.

He’d confronted her immediately, “Momma. Why do you have so many prescriptions? Why do you need painkillers? And all the benzos… I mean, you have more meds than what any one person should ever need in a lifetime.”

Declan had seen many of his fraternity brothers playing around with heavy prescription pills and it never led to anything good. It alarmed him that his mother had any of this stuff in the house. Not that Declan was against the occasional recreational partaking of an illegal substance, but this scared the shit out of him. And most of the bottles only had half the prescription amount in them, so it was clear she was taking them.

Anna had become uncharacteristically angry at Declan, “You need to mind your own damn business, son. What are you doing going through my things?”

“Does Dad know about this?” Declan asked, his voice cold. “Does he have any idea?”

Anna’s eyes filled with tears, “There you go judging me. You don’t know what I go through every day. The painkillers help the kind of pain that can’t heal or get fixed. They help me get through the pain of living! And my benzos help me sleep. So don’t you accuse and judge and persecute me, Declan Seamus DeGraff. Jesus says don’t throw stones.”

Declan sighed, “I don’t remember Jesus saying that it was okay to be a junkie.”

For the first time ever, Anna slapped him. She’d never laid a hand on him, not in the entirety of his life, but she’d smacked him hard across the cheek in that moment.

And then swiftly burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “It’s just so much harder than people know. If only people knew what happens in my head every day… They’d leave me be.”

Declan was in shock. The sting of her slap wasn’t what hurt him. Seeing her vulnerable and sobbing in front of him is what truly killed him.

They had never spoken again about that day. She’d promised to try to be better about her pills and booze, but assured Declan she wasn’t addicted to anything and that she could stop at any time, if she wanted to.

“I just never want to,” she admitted. “They keep me happy. And don’t you know how important it is to your daddy that I appear happy at all times?”

Declan was the only one that knew this side of his mother. She had her bad days, but also, like that day on the porch, she had many great days. That’s what he tried to focus on.

“Well,” Declan said. “I think I’m going for a run.”

Anna sipped her tea, “Antonia just set up lunch. Aren’t you hungry?”

Declan leaned down and kissed his mother on the head, “I’ll eat after. I won’t be gone too long. It’s just a gorgeous day and I haven’t run the bridge in a while.”

The Ravenel Bridge was a large white beacon of hope that crossed over from Charleston to Mt Pleasant. It had a runner’s path and Declan tried to jog it every other day or so.

“It’s so hot, baby. Take some water. I don’t want you passing out,” Anna said.

“I’ll be fine,” Declan said. “I run it all the time. I need to do some thinking. Decide how to plan my summer without the Sullivan’s house.”

Anna laughed, “Oh! To have such dilemmas! Okay, sweet baby. You run and I’ll sit here and enjoy this day, this tea, and a sandwich.”

Declan nodded, “You do that.”

He walked back to his room to change into his running shorts and a t-shirt. Part of him thought about not doing the run, it really was hot.

But for whatever reason, he pressed forward with it. He’d later say it was as if something was pulling him toward that bridge.

And that something was Charlotte Sanders.

********

Charlotte hadn’t known where to go or what to do after her talk with Allyn. It was her day off from her job as a server at the Dixie Garden, a soup and salad place off of Church Street that catered to college students and young professionals. She worked there as much as she could when she wasn’t in class, and her hope was that now that school was out, she could pick up some more shifts.

But now she didn’t even have a place to live past the next couple of weeks, and her stress levels were beyond anything she had experienced since she’d first moved to Charleston. Part of her wondered if she should just go back home to Nashville, quit while she was ahead.

But she was determined not to do that. She’d made the decision to move and go to school here, and she didn’t want to not finish what she started. That wasn’t the type of person she was.