The Mentor (Necessary Lies Book 1)

by Ryan, Alison

Charlotte laughed, “I’m not afraid of aging. You should know me better than that.”

  “Then why?” Vanessa’s eyes were wide and on the verge of tears. “I’m your sister. We’ve never gone more than like four days without seeing each other. And Dad…”

  “I have to do this for my own reasons,” Charlotte said. “One day you’ll understand.

  “I doubt that,” Vanessa muttered under her breath. “This just isn’t you, Charlotte. You’re the one that stays. You’re steadfast and solid and this is completely out of character for you.”

  Charlotte sighed, “I’m not a robot. I’m a person. And I need to find my way out of a thing. Okay? You trust me?”

  Charlotte was in front of her sister now, her arms outstretched.

  “I love you, Vanessa,” she said. “To the moon and back.”

  Vanessa paused, still sore over what was happening. But she couldn’t resist a hug from the Sanders sister that wasn’t known for being the most warmly affectionate of the two of them.

  Vanessa wrapped her slender arms around Charlotte’s shoulders, “To the moon and back.”

  ********

  Just hearing Vanessa say Declan’s name out loud had shaken Charlotte up. Of the two huge ghosts in her life, he was the one still walking around, still alive, and the memory of him haunted her ever since the last time she saw him. But this wasn’t really the time to think about that. She had hundreds of miles in the car ahead of her. Nashville was a good eight and half hours from Charleston. It would be a long day.

  She had been driving for two hours without the radio, lost in her thoughts from the past and her time with the only man she’d ever loved. As much as she wanted to protest that she hadn’t considered him when planning this trip, she couldn’t. Vanessa was right. Declan was Charleston.

  And the DeGraffs were Charleston royalty. With Declan the sole heir.

  But, in truth, Charleston was so much more than any of them. Or all of them.

  Charlotte had always been drawn to the Holy City. She, Vanessa, and their parents had vacationed there when she was young, always renting the same house on Folly Beach. They’d get up early and go to the pier every day and watch the sun rise together. Eat crab legs and all you can eat shrimp at The Crab Shack. Her mother would take the girls downtown to King Street and they’d wander in and out of shops while eating large Styrofoam cups full of Italian Ice that they’d buy from a vendor on the corner. It was so hot that the ice would turn into “sugar soup” as her mother called it, before they could even finish it all.

  The city represented both the best times of her life and the worst.

  When Charlotte was thirteen years old, they’d come to Folly Beach later in the summer than usual, in August, right before school was starting up. The high season was over by then and their rental was a little cheaper.

  On their first night there, Charlotte’s mother said she needed to go to the store.

  “I have such a headache,” she’d said. “And I forgot to pack Tylenol. Your daddy is sleeping the drive off so I’m going to slip out and pick some up. I’ll be gone just a few. Charlotte, do you want to go with me?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes, “Uh, no thanks. Vanessa just painted my nails. I want them to dry.”

  “Okay, baby,” her mother said, kissing her on the forehead. “You stay here and dry those little toes of yours. I love you. See you soon.”

  Charlotte thought about that conversation all the time. At least once a week. She thought about how if she’d only said yes and taken her time to put her shoes on, or grab her purse, or really add any time to her mother’s journey, the whole tragedy could have been prevented.

  The sudden, tragic things are often determined by chance and seconds of time.

  Her mother had left to go to the store and had not returned. On her way back she’d been t-boned at a stop light, waiting to turn onto the road that led to their cottage.

  The driver who hit her had fled the scene.

  Charlotte remembered someone telling her that her mother had felt no pain. That the accident had taken her instantly. It was what was told to comfort her and her father, who had been destroyed by the news, and angry that she’d gone alone at night to the store. Her mother’s entire life was lived just to end over a tension headache.

  “You should have woken me up!” he yelled at Charlotte that terrible night.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Charlotte tearfully said.

  “Daddy, it’s not her fault,” Vanessa defended her sister. “Mom was a grown woman. It was a horrible accident.”

  But what was said couldn’t be unsaid.

  Her father never again set foot in Charleston, or even in the state of South Carolina. And when Charlotte decided to go to College of Charleston he’d been angry and confused.

  “Why would you want to go to college there?” he’d said. “After what we lost in that damn town? How can you go back?”

  Charlotte could never have explained it. But for her Charleston was the great ellipsis of her life. In a way she would always feel that was where her mother still was, trapped in a time and place where things had been good and right with the world.

  She could also never have been able to describe it, but Charlotte was drawn to it. Like an invisible force was beckoning her back. For reasons unknown to her then, something was waiting for her in Charleston.

  Charlotte shook away the memory as she drove down I-26. She turned on the radio and switched through a million gospel and country stations until she gave up and threw in a Ray Lamontagne CD.

  His soulful voice filled the inside of her car and for a moment Charlotte allowed herself to forget about what had happened years ago and stop worrying about the future. For now, it was just her and the music, and her trying her best to hang on to the present and forget the past.

  For now.

  Chapter Three

  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.
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  “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.

  Ten Years Ago…

  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 think
ing. 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.”