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profession? To gain first-hand experience, uncovering who-knew-what structures or relics.
    Besides, it wasn’t as if Hank was spending time with her and Chloe. Since they’d arrived, he’d seen the baby before bedtime exactly once. And today was the first time he’d been with them for breakfast. His time was completely taken up by the symposium. If she accepted the offer and worked on the dig, he’d barely know the difference.
    Even so, accepting didn’t feel right. The only reason Hank had asked her to come along was that he hadn’t wanted to spend weeks apart from her and Chloe. Harper closed her eyes. Laughter pealed in the living room. Harper clicked the ‘respond’ button and wrote an email, thanking Dr Berkson for finding her an active dig and explaining that, due to her family’s needs, she’d be unable to volunteer there the next day.
    She stared at the screen, disappointed. Pictured the dig site, sections of five-meter squares ready to be excavated. History waiting underground, undiscovered, resting in layers of time. She imagined buried walls, maybe entire buildings . . .
    No. Never mind. She wasn’t going. Instead, she’d stay where she was for the next two weeks, wandering around the city with Hagit, hoping to catch glimpses of Hank between sessions of endless politically sensitive meetings that he couldn’t discuss.
    Someone knocked and Harper heard the door open in the next room. Heard Trent come in, announcing that it was time to go.
    Hank stuck his head into the bedroom. ‘Hoppa? Going. See you. Later.’
    She looked up. Said nothing.
    ‘What?’
    She shook her head. Clearly, he didn’t have time for a discussion.
    ‘You’re mad?’
    ‘Why would I be mad?’ She crossed her arms, looked away.
    Chloe ran in, grabbed her leg. ‘Mama!’
    ‘About dig?’ He came into the room. ‘Told you. Do it. Go. Yes.’
    Did he mean it?
    He stepped over, pecked her cheek. ‘Ten days only. Good. For you. Do it.’
    Really? Harper couldn’t tell. He was hurried, in motion. Lifting Chloe for a quick kiss. Heading for the door.
    Trent called, ‘Arriba, Hank. Step on it,’ as Chloe waved, ‘Bye bye, Daddy.’
    The door closed. Chloe picked up her stuffed monkey, nuzzled it and sucked her fingers.
    Harper looked back at the computer, hesitating. Did Hank really not mind? Would Chloe be okay at the kibbutz nursery?
    Chloe climbed on her lap, and they sat for a while before she revised her response to Dr Berkson, asking if she could join the group after orientation. In a couple of days.
    Apparently, Hagit had mixed feelings. ‘You can see lots of history without going on a dig. Why do you want to go to an old prison? We can take day trips from Jerusalem. To the north. To Eilat. All over.’
    She went on about visiting the ruins of Massada, Caesarea. ‘I can take you. We can look at the silver mines from King Solomon’s times. We can visit ruins of Canaanites and Philistines. Byzantines. The past? It’s all over the country. Whatever you want.’
    Harper wanted to see all of it. But looking at what others had discovered wasn’t the same as discovering things herself. She didn’t expect Hagit or anyone else to understand. Finding history, uncovering it was like time travel, like detective work. Like having personal contact, even relationships with people and civilizations long gone. Harper thought of time as a decaying, eroding force that layered everything in dust. She saw current structures, even high-rise buildings, as future ruins, as fodder for digs of future millennia.
    Hagit was still talking. ‘I suppose it’s different in America. To you history is what, two centuries? Three? Here we think in thousands of years, not hundreds.’
    Hagit chattered on as they strolled with Chloe along the shops on Ben Yehuda Street. Not much was open yet, so they wandered back to the Old City under a relentless sun. Entering the Jaffa Gate, Harper tuned Hagit out, thought about the murdered American. Wondered