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averted her face and was biting my ear.
    “Once we let it in,” she whispered, “there’s no place left where there isn’t pain and sadness.” She pushed my legs apart with her knees. “No place left where there’s only the pure physicality of our love for each other.”
    “Okay,” I said, panting a little as heat rushed to my face.
    She slipped a couple of fingers inside me. “This is the only time when I demand your complete attention.”
    “Not a problem,” I gasped, then pulled her down to me and kissed her until the world and all its sorrows was back where it was supposed to be, right outside the door, waiting patiently for us to finish.

Chapter Three
     
    “Remind me again why I love climbing,” I told Maggie as I prepared to lead the fourth pitch of a climb on the Redgarden Wall in Eldorado Canyon, a world famous climbing area about ten miles south of Boulder.
    “Because you like being scared?” my best friend asked, clipping her belay device (a small metal contraption through which the rope is threaded) into a locking carabiner attached to her harness. “You’re on belay.”
    It was a gorgeous Sunday in March, unseasonably warm and cloudless. According to the almanac, spring was only two or three snowstorms away. Although the motions hearing in Emily’s case was coming up fast, requiring considerable preparation, I still had enough time to take an occasional day off to play. I’d been climbing for three years and had just begun leading at the end of last summer.
    I loved everything about the sport, even the danger. If I’d been single or in a relationship with someone who shared my passion, I would have climbed every weekend. But Vickie was a hiker and a gardener whose sense of adventure was more than satisfied by a pleasant stroll in the foothills during which she’d have to stop every couple of yards to look at the wildflowers and try to identify them. Because she was also an internist who treated accident victims, including the occasional climber, she thought lead climbing was both crazy and dangerous. For the sake of harmony, we’d agreed to disagree on the subject.
    The climb today was six pitches long and we were alternating leads. This would be the hardest pitch I’d ever led, but Maggie thought I was ready. I studied the thirty-foot traverse in front of me. The handholds looked good, but the footholds looked nonexistent. I stared at the smooth granite until I could detect a few tiny bulges along the face that might hold me if I placed the balls of my feet on them and allowed friction to keep me from slipping. Maggie, of course, was tied into three bombproof anchors. If I slipped, I’d swing, but I wouldn’t go far and she’d be able to haul me up.
    “No, that’s not the reason,” I said, referring to Maggie’s mock serious suggestion. “I actually hate being scared.”
    Maggie nodded, then played out enough rope so that I could begin climbing. I stepped out onto the rock and stuck a few fingers into the horizontal crack above me. “A bit tenuous,” I muttered.
    Maggie laughed. “You’ll feel better as soon as you get a piece in.”
    I reached down with my right hand, unhooked a small camming device from my harness, and placed it into the crack. Maggie let out some more rope and I quickly clipped in. For the moment, I was secure.
    “Good,” she said. “Now, at the risk of offending you, I’m just going to say I know you can do this, but if you don’t feel like it for whatever reason, I’m happy to do it instead. The next pitch is easier, but still quite exciting.”
    “Thanks, but no thanks.” I tiptoed my left foot across the face until I found a little nub, then slid both hands to the left. After adjusting my weight, I moved my right foot over as well, a mad little caterpillar inching my way across a large expanse of rock hundreds of feet above the ground. There were three or four black birds flying in circles below my feet.
    After clipping into my second piece, I