Two Worlds Apart (Concrete Hearts #1)

1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

No one, ever, had heard of Blackthorn, Arizona.

Well, no one who didn’t live there, that was.

It wasn’t to be found on a map in school, save for the one hung in my fourth-grade history class—the teacher had written it in himself and circled it with a red, felt-tipped pen. To the outside world, we didn’t exist. Blank stares greeted me when outsiders heard its name, despite its proximity to Tucson.

When I’d ventured to share my background with a few of my new classmates at university there, they’d all worn matching expressions—confusion.

“Where?” one had asked.

I’d feebly explained, but who was I kidding? They didn’t care. I didn’t care.

It’s in some little pocket universe, a less-cute Mayberry from the Andy Griffith Show , a thing of fiction. Nothing bad happened here because, well, nothing ever happened.

“Which account did you want it transferred to, Mallory?” Deidra’s eyes flicked away from her computer for a nanosecond.

There you go, case closed. This was the highest level of security you were going to get in Blackthorn.

I offered a tight-lipped smile. “My mom’s checking, please.” Even though the entire town used this one bank, the teller didn’t bother asking for any more details. She knew exactly who every single inhabitant was by name and face.

“All right, hon, you’re all set,” she said, printing out a receipt. “Anything else?” She handed me the slip of paper.

I held back a shudder. I didn’t need to look at it. I knew the amounts there—low. It would only spike my anxiety about spending even the barest minimum I was about to on this trip.

Breathe. Change was on the way. I—we—could manage until then.

“Thanks,” I said, stuffing the paper into the deepest, darkest corner of my purse.

Transitioning from the air-conditioned interior out onto the blazing sidewalk along Main Street was always a shock to the system. It didn’t matter if you had been born and died here; we all experienced that same mix of shivers across our skin that preluded the sweats. I shook it off, pulling out my phone and opening up my to-do list.

Check in for my flights.

Check.

Paper copies of emergency and travel documents printed.

Check.

Transfer money.

Check.

I sighed, wishing that measly amount was more to hold my mother over while I was gone. But my stupid little job at the corner shop on weekends barely paid for my expenses, even while living at home and commuting to school. Still, my mom’s waitressing job in a town with zero tourism only let us scrape by growing up. At least she didn’t have Sydney, my older sister, to worry about financially anymore. Secretly, I suspected Sydney might be making her own contributions to our mom’s scant funds. Two and two never quite added up with what my mom could afford, even if they were simple basics.

But I’d never asked, and she’d never said. Sydney wasn’t what you’d call the warm and fuzzy, sharing-over-cocoa type. Or any kind of talking, for that matter.

I wandered through town toward the grocery store. The last remaining things on my list were items for dinner. The few faces I passed were ones I’d seen every day of my life. Predictable. Expected. Normal in every way.

A rush of excitement hurried my steps. In less than twenty-four hours, that would no longer be the case.

The squeaky wheel of my grocery cart announced my arrival down each aisle. I was met with curious looks, and the odd well-wish for a pleasant trip. Maybe they thought I didn’t notice their looks of bafflement or the shake of a head just before they turned out of sight.

I shook my own. Small-town life. Everyone’s business was somehow all of ours. It was stifling, close-minded. I yearned for freedom, adventure, escape. I used to wish I fit in, that I could be a country bumpkin that just enjoyed gardening or sitting in a corner reading while the rest of the world swirled by out of reach. But for the first time ever, I was going to be part of it, not observing from the outside.

“When are you leaving?”

I jerked out of my daydream. The steady beep beep beep of items being scanned like an apathetic heartbeat infiltrated my much more appealing alternate reality.

Janice, my middle school's notorious head mean girl, who had never quite grown out of it, shoved the last items down the counter to the bagging area. Great. As if I needed yet another reminder of why I craved a change of scenery.

“Tomorrow.” I tucked a piece of my dirty-dishwater-colored hair behind one ear after handing her cash.

She puffed out a bored sigh, stabbed at her register screen, and handed back my change. “Have a great time.” Her tone wished me the opposite .

“Thanks,” I said too-sweetly with a simpering smile.

As I drove home toward the outskirts of town, I took my time, drinking in every last detail I had already memorized over a lifetime. On the right was the corner where Sydney had taught me to ride a bike after school while my mom worked her double shift and my dad was who knows where. I’d ended up with a lot of scraped knees from the pot-holed asphalt. The tiny school around the corner served kindergarten through high school on the same small lot, divided by two prisonlike buildings. Mr. Billings sat on his usual bench along the main street feeding the birds. Mrs. Clark herded her six-child brood to McTier’s, the secondhand store.

Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled into the dusty parking lot of the weathered apartment complex my mom and I called home. I scowled at our dinky balcony and the busted eave hovering limply above it. It had slumped during a particularly violent dust storm. Frank, our drunken landlord, said he’d get to it on Tuesday—a month ago.

The bags of groceries teetered in my arms as I carried them up to the second level. I banged on the door with the toe of my shoe. The patter of muffled feet approached, then my mom was swinging open the door.

Her eyes, the same shade of steel-blue as mine, filled with reproach as they homed in on the bags. “I could have come down to help,” she fussed.

“It’s fine.” I set them down on the counter, and she immediately began helping me put things away.

After dinner, we watched TV until finally, my mom fell asleep on the couch. I clicked the TV off and touched her shoulder.

“Mom, go to bed.”

She mumbled a vague protest.

“Get some sleep. You’re going to have a late drive back tomorrow.”

At that, her eyes flew open and found mine. Panic flashed behind them. The sight sent a hand clenching around my heart. My poor mom, ever the mother hen.

“I’ll be fine.” It was perhaps the hundredth time I’d said it since I’d announced my trip. Before the ink on my diploma had even dried, I’d sent out my resume and signed up with a traveling nurse agency. Little had I expected my first assignment to be for a five-month stint at the esteemed Haven Oak Medical Center in Houston, Texas, starting in the fall. Could I have chosen others that started sooner? Yes. But a light had clicked on.

Europe.

It was now or never before I focused on my career. In the brief summer weeks before starting my dream job, I was going to accomplish another. A dream I’d been planning on the world map poked and prodded to within an inch of its life on my bedroom wall. I blamed cable. Once we’d moved closer to town after my parent’s divorce and our rabbit-eared antenna gave us access to the myriad oftravel programs, there was no going back. Before I settled into the routine of life, I was going to experience the life the little girl in me had dreamed of. I could give her that.

Even at the expense of my mother’s insecurity of letting me out of her sight for more than a day. Or a time zone. On the other side of the world.

But to her credit, in this moment, she bit her lip and simply nodded, rising from the couch and going to her room in silence.

Guilt churned in my stomach along with butterflies as I readied for bed, each toothbrush stroke stoking an argument and counterargument through my head.

You shouldn’t leave her. What could happen while you’re gone?

She’s a grown woman. She’ll be fine, and Sydney is only a phone call away.

You’re leaving her in a bind financially.

That will be a nonissue soon.

Yeah, but now?

Shut up. It’s now or never and it will never be never.

I set my toothbrush back into the holder with a decisive thunk.

As hyped-up as I was, I was also exhausted from the packing, the planning, and the emotional load. I dozed off as soon as I closed my eyes.

But when my alarm screamed at me only hours later, I was instantly awake. Not a shred of sleepiness survived the influx of adrenaline that propelled me through my remaining packing.

It was time.

Time to see the world.

Time to see what kind of stuff I was made of.

Two hours in the car with my mom and one tearful goodbye later, I was on the plane. My mother had held me so tightly outside security, I worried she would never let go. Her fear of being completely alone for the first time was palpable. Her life had led from her parents straight to my father, and, even when he’d finally gone on his merry way, she’d still had me and Sydney. Until now.

I’d tried to be reassuring as she panicked, using every excuse in the book to convince me to stay. Don’t leave me , had been the real plea hidden behind them all.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Do you really need to be gone for so long?”

“I won’t get to celebrate your birthday with you.”

“Don’t fall in love.”

When I’d opened my mouth in protest at the last one, she’d cut me off.

“Things happen. It’s when you’re not looking that it’s the most dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I knew in her case it had been true with my dad. He had shown his true colors after the initial love whirlwind had settled right back into what it really was…dirt. Gambler, addict, abuser—take your pick. But I wasn’t my mother, and what she was saying was ludicrous, so I’d kept it light. “Okay, I’ll let you know if I meet some devastating vampire hunk in Transylvania.”

She’d frozen. “You’re going to Transylvania? ”

I’d rolled my eyes. “Mom.”

Her hand had waved, dismissing the tangent. “Promise me.”

“I promise that I’ll be so absorbed by beautiful sights, drool-worthy food, and taking crazy risks, that I won’t be able to fit in falling in love, all right?”

One chastising “Mallory!” and another hug later, I was through security and running for the plane. I’d nearly missed it.

My flight to the United Kingdom took just about twelve hours. The initial novelty of looking down at the world from so high above wore thin quickly, but my excitement to get there and start the journey grew with each minute. Daydreams and pins on a map were all that constituted my so-called “vacation planning.” Although, I had set a reservation in Venice as a guide to aim for mid-trip, and in London before my flight back home. The general path was etched into my brain: France, Italy, Croatia, Austria, Germany, the UK. But the gaps between and smaller, unknown details enticed me just as much as the large boxes I’d checked off. Because this was it. It was finally happening. I was finally going.

My hands shook a little in my lap.

“Is London your final stop or just the first jump across the pond?”

I looked toward the friendly face on my left. She was a white-haired woman in her mid-seventies, the laugh lines around her eyes warming her curious expression. Her British accent was posh, which made me smile.

“A jump,” I responded. “I’ve got a connecting flight to Paris from Heathrow, but I’ll be spending a few days in London before I fly back home again.”

“Ah.” This seemed to please her. “It’s a beautiful city, if I do say so myself. Have you been before?”

I shook my head. “This is my first time anywhere.”

“Phoenix is lovely.” Her eyes twinkled. “Home is hardly nowhere.”

I laughed. “Phoenix, yes. But have you been to Blackthorn?”

Her lips pursed. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Then let me know what you think after you’ve visited,” I said dryly .

She chuckled. “It’s a deal.”

“What brought you to Arizona?”

Her face dimmed. “A funeral, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

She shrugged. “It was a fine gathering, seeing old friends and family. That’s the good that comes out of such things.”

“I suppose.” Luckily, grief was something I hadn’t had to experience yet.

“So, who are you meeting up with on this adventure of yours?”

I shook my head. “No one. Just me and my backpack.” I considered for a moment. “I think I’ll call her Bertha.” Big blue Bertha. It had a nice ring to it.

“Oh?” There was only the slightest trace of worry in her voice, but she schooled her expression well.

“I wanted to go alone,” I explained before she could ask. It was always the inevitable next question.

“Why?” Her lips pulled up into a gentle smile.

“Because I can,” I said honestly. “I don’t want anyone else to control this experience. It’s mine. Where I go, what I do, who I meet. If I get lost, I get lost. If I want to go out, I’ll go out.”

“Does it worry you at all?” No judgment, just curiosity.

I paused. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought of the risks—or been reminded of them by my mom every chance she got. I could handle getting lost, being in countries whose language I didn’t share, being alone. Darkness didn’t wait around every corner.

“I know the concerns,” I said. “But it’s also part of the excitement.”

She nodded slowly and, for the first time, I realized I was talking to someone who actually got it. With a small smile and a look something akin to pride lighting her eyes, she asked, “Where are you going?”

I breathed deeply, the excitement bubbling again. “Paris, to start. Venice at one point. I generally know which direction I’ll head next, but it’s all flexible otherwise. ”

“I like that,” she agreed. “Do you have Croatia on your list, by chance?”

I grinned. “Yes. It looks amazing.”

“It is. The inland countries are nice as well, though some are a little drier and desert-ish. But I suppose you’re used to that.” She gave me a knowing wink. “Bosnia, Montenegro, up into Slovenia as well.”

I pulled out my phone, opening up a note-taking app. “Bosnia, Montenegro, Slovenia,” I repeated back as I typed. “Great, thanks for the advice. So have you traveled a lot, then?”

She blinked. “Yes, once upon a time.” She looked away, and I had the sense that she was fighting back tears.

I bit my lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

A small sniff, then she twisted back toward me. “Dear, when you get to my age, you’ll realize that the good times and the bad are all intertwined. You can’t be reminded of one without the other. It’s just life.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I settled with a simple nod and a soft smile.

We were silent until after drinks and food had been passed out, the trash collected.

“What are you most excited about?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “I’m excited to explore beautiful places and meet new people, to see how they live and what they love. I want to sort of test myself, too.” I looked up at her, wondering if that sounded strange.

The woman stilled, her eyes seeming to bore into my very soul. She didn’t blink, which was somewhat unnerving, but I met her gaze evenly.

She grinned. “Yes, what will you discover, I wonder?”

When the pilot finally announced our approach to Heathrow Airport, I stared eagerly out the window, straining for my first views of England. It came in fits of pasture lands spotted through misty clouds and, eventually, of skyscrapers in the distance before touchdown. Several people clapped after the bounce of the wheels on the tarmac. My stomach fluttered as I realized I was on foreign ground for the first time in my life. I couldn’t hold back my grin.

The seatbelt sign dinged, and passengers leapt to their feet. I made to do the same, but narrow fingers pressed gently over mine, and I paused. The other hand held out a napkin.

“You’re under no obligation, of course,” the woman said, “but should you need help or want to share your adventure with an old woman, I would be happy to hear from you along the way.”

I took it. Her name was Gail, and the address she listed on the back was in London, along with a strange-looking phone number.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “That would be wonderful.” I flipped my hand so I was holding hers. “My name is Mallory. Mallory Roth.”

“Sounds like a name from a fairy tale.” She leaned in, inches from my ear. “I hope you discover yours.” She pulled back and gave me a wink.

“Me, too.” I smiled, sharing a special secret with this stranger. But she didn’t feel like a stranger. It felt like I was looking into a mirror, recognizing some peculiar kinship with this woman that was unmistakable and, at the same time, indefinable.

She squeezed my hand before letting go and stood to swing a simple cross-body purse over her head.

“Can I help you with your bags?” I offered, rising uncomfortably into a partial crouch to avoid banging my head on the luggage compartment.

She waved me off. “No need. I travel light these days.” Her hands smoothed down her shirt as she stepped into the aisle to join the queue pushing toward the front of the plane. “Have a wonderful time, Mallory. I look forward to hearing from you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little as I watched her disappear into the crowd. What a cool lady. What adventures had she been on in her life? Perhaps I’d ask her when I had something to share.

The idea brought the swoop of excitement back, and I glanced around. The plane was almost empty now. I rushed to the open aisle to grab my tall, bright blue pack—the newly anointed Bertha. She settled with a weighty thump high between my shoulders, and my brows pinched. Perhaps I should have edited my wardrobe a bit more.

After running from one end of Heathrow to the other, I just made my connecting flight. Jet lag caught up to me as we flew over the English Channel. A spectacular sunset cast the curve of the earth in a peachy hue that could only be described as a dictionary definition of sunset-orange. My window speckled with ice as we zoomed over first sea, then land. I settled back in my seat once more as the purple of night cascaded across the shores of France.