Genesis Read Online Free PDF Page A

The stars lined up and it triggered you."
    "It's Will's fault," Faith mumbled. "He eats like a twelve-year-old.
Doughnuts, pizza, hamburgers. He can't go into a gas station
without buying nachos and a hot dog."
    Sara sat down on the edge of the bed again. "Faith, this isn't the
end of the world. You're in good shape. You've got great insurance.
You can manage this."
    "What if I . . ." She blanched, breaking eye contact with Sara.
"What if I wasn't pregnant?"
    "We're not talking about gestational diabetes here. This is full
blown, type two. A termination won't suddenly make the problem
go away," Sara answered. "Look, this is probably something you've
been building up to for a while. Being pregnant brought it on faster.
It will make things more complicated in the beginning, but not impossible."
    "I just . . ." She didn't seem capable of finishing a sentence.
    Sara patted her hand, standing. "Dr. Wallace is an excellent diagnostitician.
I know for a fact that she takes the city insurance plan."
    "State," Faith corrected. "I'm with the GBI."
    Sara assumed the Georgia Bureau of Investigation's plan was similar,
but she didn't quibble. Faith was obviously having difficulty absorbing
the news, and Sara had not exactly eased her into it. You
couldn't unring a bell, though. Sara patted her arm. "Mary will give
you an injection. You'll be feeling better in no time." She started to
leave. "I mean it about calling Dr. Wallace," she added firmly. "I
want you on the phone with her office first thing in the morning, and
you need to be eating more than sticky buns. Low-carb, low-fat, regular,
healthy meals and snacks, okay?"
    Faith nodded, still dumbstruck, and Sara left the room feeling like
an absolute heel. Her bedside manner had certainly deteriorated over
the years, but this represented a new low. Wasn't that anonymity
why she had come to Grady in the first place? But for a handful of
homeless men and some prostitutes, she seldom saw a patient more
than once. That had been the real pull for Sara—the absolute detachment.
She wasn't at a stage in her life where she wanted to make connections with
people. Every new chart was an opportunity to start all
over. If Sara was lucky—and if Faith Mitchell was careful—they
would probably never see each other again.
    Instead of going back into the doctors' lounge to finish her charts,
Sara walked past the nurses' station, through the double doors, into
the overfilled waiting room and finally found herself outside. There
were a couple of respiratory therapists by the exit smoking cigarettes,
so Sara kept walking toward the back of the building. Guilt about
Faith Mitchell still hung heavy on her shoulders, and she looked up
Delia Wallace's number in her cell phone before she forgot to follow
up. The service took her message about Faith, and Sara felt slightly
better as she ended the call.
    She had run into Delia Wallace a couple of months ago, when the
woman had come in to see one of her wealthy patients who had been
airlifted to Grady after a bad car accident. Delia and Sara had been the
only women in the top five percent of their graduating class at
Emory University Medical School. At the time, it was an unwritten
rule that there were two options for female doctors: gynecology or
pediatrics. Delia had chosen the first, Sara the latter. They would
both turn forty next year. Delia seemed to have everything. Sara felt
like she had nothing.
    Most doctors—Sara included—were arrogant to one degree or
another, but Delia had always been an avid self-promoter. While
they drank their coffees in the doctors' lounge, Delia quickly offered
the highlights of her life: a thriving practice with two offices, a
stockbroker husband and three overachieving kids. She'd shown Sara
pictures of them all, this perfect family of hers who looked as if they
had walked out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.
    Sara hadn't told Delia about her own life after medical school,