Yeah, no one could do 'withering' as well as his dad. Somehow his punishments were worse because of the humiliation involved, even if they seemed simple on the surface. Going on their own and apologizing in person the year they'd egged a neighbour's house still made Foreman squirm to recall. His mom's groundings, or confiscating a walkman for a week, had been comparatively easy to get through. "He did his best," he said, a little briefly, shrugging as best he could given his position. It hadn't always been enough, but that wasn't Dad's fault.

Foreman found Amber's hands and linked their fingers. The roughhousing was over, and this seemed more appropriate for the conversation than the wrestling hold he'd had on her at first. Hearing Amber talk about her family, Foreman continued to build an image of her as a kid. He felt a little ridiculous--next thing he'd be asking her to break out the photo albums--but, no. It was better to hear her talk about her brothers the same way she did about the other fellows out for her job. Laughing quietly, he pictured Amber getting Taub into an armlock and rubbing his face on the hospital floor. "Yeah, that sounds like you." He was beginning to think maybe he shouldn't have gotten this deep into a conversation about families, not if he wanted to keep Amber from questioning his too much. But she already knew the worst, and anyway, she didn't seem to mind talking about her brothers. Maybe he'd luck out and they'd stay on the safe topic. "How many years apart are you?"