hwater. If this story draws you back into the limelight, if there's a chance it will motivate you to return to your practice, then I'll be damned before I'll apologize for it."
He turned his back on her and opened the door.
"Doc?" she cried.
But all he said was, "Your ride is here."
CHAPTER 17
Tiel's cubicle in the newsroom was a disaster area. It usually was, but more so now than usual. She had received hundreds of notes, cards, and letters from colleagues and viewers, complimenting her excellent coverage of the Davison-Dendy story and commending her for the heroic role she'd played in it. Many were yet to be opened. They had been piled into wobbly, uneven stacks.
There weren't enough surfaces to accommodate the number of floral arrangements delivered over the past week, so she had distributed them to offices and conference areas throughout the building.
Vern and Gladys had sent her a mail-order cheesecake that would have fed five thousand. The newsroom staff had gorged themselves, and there was still more than half left.
As anticipated, she had been the center of attention, and not only on a local level. She had been interviewed by reporters from global news operations, including CNN and Bloomberg. Because of the compelling human ele ment, the love story, the emergency birth of the baby, and the dramatic denouement, the story had piqued the interest of TV audiences all over the world.
She'd been asked by a local car dealership to do their commercials, an offer she declined. National women's magazines were proposing feature articles on everything from her secrets of success to the decor of her house. She was the undeclared Woman of the Week.
And she had never been more miserable.
She was making a futile stab at clearing off her desk when Gully joined her. "Hey, kid."
"I took the rest of the cheesecake to the cafeteria and left it there on a first come, first served basis."
"I got the last piece."
"Your arteries will never forgive me."
"Have I told you what a great job you did?"
"It's always nice to hear."
"Great job."
"Thanks. But it's left me drained. I'm tired."
"You look it. In fact you look like hammered shit." She tossed him a dirty glance over her shoulder. "Just calling it like I see it."
"Didn't your mother ever tell you that some things are better left unsaid?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"I told you, Gully, I'm-"
"You're not just tired. I know tired, and this isn't tired.
You should be lit up like a Christmas tree. You're not your normal, hyperactive, supercharged self. Is it Linda Harper? Are you sulking because she got the jump on you and stole some of your thunder?"
"No." She methodically ripped open another envelope and read the congratulatory note inside. I love your reports on the TV. You're my roll [sic] model. I want to be just like you when I grow up. I like your hair too.
Gully said, "I can't believe you didn't recognize the Doc of standoff fame as Dr. Bradley Stanwick."
"Hmm."
Gully continued, undaunted in spite of her seeming disinterest. "Let me put it another way. I don't believe you didn't recognize him as Dr. Bradley Stanwick."
The change in Gully's tone of voice was unmistakable, and there was no way to avoid addressing it. She laid down the note from the girl who identified herself as Kimberly, a fifth-grader, and slowly swiveled her chair around to face Gully.