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you need while we’re still in the city?”
    “No, just take me to the hotel before I change my mind and fly back to Indianapolis.”
    They squeezed into the car again, and Abby braced herself for another nail-biting ride. She tried to enjoy the scenery as the car left the city, but the needle on the speedometer hovered around 100. Ari caught her glancing at it.
    “Don’t worry, it is in kilometers,” he said. “One hundred kilometers per hour is about . . . eh . . . sixty miles per hour.” It was a small comfort as they hurtled down the busy freeway. Brightly colored advertisements in Hebrew raced past, reminding Abby that she was in a foreign country. Aside from the signs, she might have been on a freeway in any American city.
    “Is this your first trip to Israel?” he asked.
    “Yes. My first trip to any foreign country, really. Well, we took the kids camping in Ontario once, but Canada hardly counts. We didn’t—” She stopped. There was no more “we.” Just Abby, alone. How long would it take to break a twenty-two-year habit, to stop thinking of herself as half of a partnership, a marriage? She had meant every word when she’d stood at the altar of her parents’ church in Indiana and vowed, “as long as we both shall live.” She had never imagined that Mark wouldn’t keep his promise.
    Abby stole a glimpse of Ari’s hands gripping the steering wheel to see if he wore a wedding ring. Like her own, his hands were bare. He glanced at her curiously, as if waiting for her to complete her sentence. She didn’t know how to finish it without the “we.” “Um . . . have you ever visited the United States, Ari?” she asked instead.
    “Not yet. I would like to someday, when there is time.”
    “Do you work at the Institute year-round?”
    “More or less.”
    Abby wanted to ask how, exactly, did a specialist in Roman mosaics make a living in Israel, but her painful attempts at conversation had already proved too tiring. A tooth extraction would probably be easier than prying information from Ari Bazak. They drove to their destination in silence.
    The hotel was a modern high-rise overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Abby caught a glimpse of the indigo water glimmering in the bright sunlight as they approached the hotel. Normally, she would have kicked off her shoes right away and gone for a long walk down the beach, but she was much too exhausted. Even the elevator ride to her room on the fifth floor made her dizzy. Ari had retrieved their keys from the desk clerk, then accompanied her to her room, unlocking the door for her. He probably meant well, but the way he hovered over her made her feel like a child. She longed to be alone for a while. During the past few months she had finally begun to adjust to living alone.
    “If I can be of further help . . .” Ari began.
    “Thank you, Dr. Bazak, but I think I can manage from now on.”
    “My room is right next to yours if you need anything.” He pointed to the door beside her own.
    “Thank you. Oh, there is one more thing. I want to call home in a little while. How do I make a credit card call to the States from my room?”
    “Would you like me to put the call through to the operator for—? Abby, what is it? What’s wrong?”
    She leaned against the doorframe and covered her face, her tears unleashed before she could stop them. “That’s what Mr. Rosen was doing for me . . . when . . .”
    Ari drew her into his arms and clasped her tightly against his chest. “Shh . . . It’s all right, Abby. It’s all right.”
    His voice was gentle and soothing, the safety of his embrace exactly what she needed. She wondered how he had known. After a moment, he steered her into the room and sat on the edge of the bed with her, cradling her in his arms, rocking her like a child.
    Abby wept, knowing it was finally safe to weep. She cried not only for Benjamin Rosen but for her unrelenting fear on the long flight overseas, for her terror when they had forced her to