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It was a clever question. Patrick’s high school English teacher had made a point of explaining how Juliet tries to convince her lover that the bird outside their window is the nightingale, meaning it was still night, not the lark, which would mean it was morning and time for Romeo to leave. Olga had surely picked up Patrick’s vibe that he wasn’t long for this place.

“I could possibly be persuaded to stay a while,” he said.

“Cool,” she said, and even with all the hours he’d logged in the virtual world, Patrick knew that smile on her face wasactualflirtation.

The ten-minute break was over, and Javier called them to shore. Putting on the same dirty clothes after bathing seemed to defeat the purpose, but such were the rules, whoever made them.

Javier laid out the afternoon agenda. “We have one more cliff to conquer, followed by two more hours of hiking. Then we make camp.”

The newly restored color seemed to drain from Olga’s face. The New York accountant and his insurance executive friend from Chicago were on the verge of mutiny.

“Unless Romeo wants to take the challenge,” Javier said, looking at Patrick.

Patrick glanced at Olga, who smiled back.

“I’m listening,” said Patrick.

“I lead the way down the next cliff. You follow. If you can keep up with me, the rest of the group walks the easy path on the other side of the mountain. From there, we all ride mules to the next campsite. No more hiking today.”

“I thought you said this was a competition,” said Patrick.

“It’s pretty clear you’re today’s winner,” said Javier.

“Do it,” said the accountant.

Olga didn’t say anything, but Patrick could see it in her eyes: she couldn’t handle another cliff.

Patrick looked Javier in eye. “All right. We’re on.”

Javier led him up the side of the next hill, an even steeper climb through the jungle than before. The footing was unsure, and a misty rain made the rocks especially slippery. The warm waters of the pond had actually made Patrick’s legs rubbery, and after a full morning of hiking followed by a traverse of the cliff, fatigue was taking a toll. Upward they continued, until the foliage thinned, the mist seemed to evaporate, and the air turned colder. They stopped at a rocky ledge. The view of the valley and winding river was breathtaking, like a scene out ofNational Geographic, as the fog crept through the lush green forest hundreds of feet below.

“We start here,” said Javier.

“And go where?”

“Down,” said Javier, glancing over the ledge. “Straight down to the valley floor.”

“That’s pretty far,” said Patrick, more than aware of his own understatement.

“You want me to go back to the group and tell them you chickened out?”

Patrick didn’t answer.

“Remember, this is not a race,” said Javier. “All you have to do is keep pace with me. I didn’t say you had to beat me.”

Patrick considered his options. Going straight down might actually be easier than hiking back down the slippery, forty-degree grade they’d just climbed.

“Okay. I’m up for it.”

Patrick attached his Y-configured climbing rope, connecting the base to his safety belt, and took hold of the carabiners, one at the top of each outstretched arm of the Y.

“There are two columns of pitons hammered into the cliff face. One column is mine. The other is yours. Start with both carabiners connected to the eyelets.”

He connected Patrick’s for him, then connected his own.

“Step down with your left foot,” he said, doing so. “When you have firm footing, disconnect the left carabiner and reattach it to the eyelet below it.”

Patrick followed his example.

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