Two facts about Imelda Garcia struck me when Ellen, our genetics counselor, introduced her. First, she seemed unusually nervous. Her hands were balled tightly into fists and her lips were clenched. Second, she was strikingly attractive, with a tall, well-proportioned body, pretty face, and long, dark hair.
"You seem nervous," I began, thinking that an obvious statement might put her more at ease. She was silent for a moment. I tried again. "What's the matter?"
"I'm supposed to be at school now," she answered. "And if my parents knew I was here, they would be very angry."
"Why would they be angry?" Ellen asked.
"They say, There's nothing wrong with you. They say, God made me this way and nothing can be done to change that. But I don't believe that. What kind of a God would do that?"
"What is the problem?" I asked. She began to cry.
"In ...
