Whatever reaction Foreman had been hoping for--some acknowledgement of just what it meant that Amber had made that intuitive leap from symptoms to diagnosis--he was more than disappointed. There wasn't a flicker of understanding on anyone's face. "No," he told Jude, "it's very rare," but he could already tell it wouldn't have any effect. She'd probably go home and throw out all her loaves and feel very virtuous doing it.

Christ, he couldn't win. The disappointment, the defeat, felt all too familiar, although he usually didn't get this feeling until the end of his visits home. He always felt like he'd accomplished nothing, like all the triumphs he worked to build in his regular life were shown to be nothing but castles in the clouds by the time he was ready to head back after being home. It was worse, this time, because it wasn't fair for Amber. Foreman felt sick with anger he couldn't show. Amber's jibe back at Geoffrey chilled the room right down, but Foreman could tell from the way she said it that she'd known the effect it would have and had fought back the only way she knew how.

While Kate and Chris went back and forth over whether Brian could conceivably switch his reservation over to another airline and get home any sooner, and whether it would be worth the trouble if he did, since any earlier and he'd be arriving jet-lagged in the middle of the night, Foreman put his hand on Amber's knee and said quietly, "I'm sorry. My dad gives all the credit to God when I save somebody's life. I don't know if this is better or worse."