Page 51 of The Holiday Swap

“Let me find the fuse box,” she said, realizing too late that she didn’t really know her way around this apartment. She checked a few obvious places—the front closet, the tiny laundry room—then emerged, perplexed but trying to cover her confusion.

There was no hiding it, though.

“Wait. You don’t know where the fuse box is?” Miguel said. It was hard to read his expression in the dim light, but from the tension in his voice she knew it wasn’t good.

“I’ve never blown a fuse before... My landlord showed me when I moved in, but I just...”

“Forgot.” He finished the sentence for her, and Cass couldn’t tell if he bought her story—but he started helping her look anyway, using the flashlight from his cell phone.

Finally, they found it, in the bedroom closet, a housecoat hanging in front of it. Miguel opened the panel, flipped the correct switch, and everything in the kitchen whirred to life. Cass ran back into the room just in time to see whipped cream spraying everywhere. She turned off the blender and grabbed a rag. The lights were glaring; she felt exposed.

“Charlie.”

She didn’t look up, just kept wiping the counter, rinsing the cloth. “Yes?”

She could feel him close, although she kept her eyes on the now sparkling clean countertop instead of meeting his eyes, afraid of what she would reveal.

“Have you been having any other lapses in memory? For example—and I can’t believe I didn’t realize this before—have you forgotten big things you used to know how to do before? Like, for example... how to surf?”

“What?You think I lied to you about that?” She realized how absurd it was for her to be so indignant: she was lying to him about literally everything else. But she still pressed forward. “Thatwasthe truth: I never learned how.”

“And you just kept all this equipment for your sister?” She had never seen him like this. He seemed confused, maybe even a little angry—and how could she blame him? He didn’t believe her. It was all unraveling. Her heart was racing. How could she fix this?

But she could tell from the expression on his face that it hadgone too far. It made her feel sick, how many lies she had actually told him. She truly cared about him—which meant she had to tell him the truth.

“Miguel...” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The right words to explain what she had been up to escaped her. “I... ah...”

Miguel shook his head and momentarily rubbed his palm across his face in agitation. “I should have known better,” he said. “This is all my fault. I got too focused on my... on whateverthisis between us”—he waved his hand like he didn’t know anymore, like it was all meaningless—“and forgot about my obligation to you as a medical professional. You came to me with a concussion, and I—God,what is wrong with me? I ignored all the signs.”

“Miguel, what signs? I don’thavea concussion—”

“Yes, you do. And a serious one, which I knew when I first met you. But you seemed to have recovered when I saw you again—except, you didn’t know the Hive always opened late, and you were so agitated and confused on set that day I came to watch with Jacintha, which is not at all like the Charlie Goodwin I’m familiar with.”

Her heart sank at this and she broke eye contact. “Maybe you should just go,” she said.

“Have you had any other symptoms?” He seemed anguished now, but she knew it wasn’t because of his feelings for her and instead because the tangled web she had been weaving was threatening to strangle them both. “Headaches, blurred vision? You know, you probably shouldn’t even be driving. You definitely should not be working, which I told you the day I treated you, especially not if you’re having memory lapses like the one you had tonight.”

“It wasn’t a memory lapse. I told you—”

“Yes, you told me, and I don’t believe you. I think you’re hiding the severity of your symptoms from me, and maybe I shouldn’t blame you. I’ve put way too much on your plate. A new relationship on top of everything else?” He shook his head again. “That was selfish and unprofessional of me, and I’m sorry.”

This was her out, Cass realized. She could just say he was right, and that he should go, and that she would get reevaluated by someone else so there would be no more blurring of personal and professional lines, and thank him for his time, and then close the door. Instead, her eyes filled with tears.

“You need to get evaluated again, Charlie. Maybe even get a CT scan. Explain to your work that you need to take some time off, and if they don’t give it to you, or they really do give Austin that spot on the new show because of an injury you sustained on set you need to... I don’t know, sue them or something. But you can’t keep taking risks like this with your health, because of what you want professionally or for... personal reasons. This is serious, and you don’t seem to understand that.”

“I do understand.”

“So, let’s go back to the hospital. I’ll take you right now.”

Cass looked up at him. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone completely dry. She hated this kind of thing—that she was going to hurt his feelings, and that there was going to be conflict. But she saw no other way around it, as her wise friend Faye back home had once reminded her during a discussion about her relationship with Brett:The only way out is through.

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “You should just go. Please. I will get myself to the hospital, I promise. But I think it will have to be somewhere other than Cedars-Sinai. You’reright, we crossed some lines here. And it’s time for us to stop.” She was surprised by how much she now sounded like her sister when she was on television, her voice smooth and calm. She could hardly stand the hurt expression on Miguel’s face but forced herself to stand her ground. It was best for both of them. She was fresh out of a ten-year relationship with Brett. She was going back to Starlight Peak in just a few days. It was too complicated to even dream that she could somehow tell him the truth and salvage their fledgling romance.

“Thank you for everything,” she added, willing her voice to stay strong. Then she walked to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, Miguel.”

He walked through, quietly saying goodbye in return, and she shut the door. The apartment felt empty and far too quiet. She turned on some music and set about cleaning up Charlie’s kitchen and adjusting the recipe, recopying it onto a fresh sheet of paper and crumpling up and throwing away the pages with Miguel’s notes. She was never going to see him again. It was time to forget him and focus on what she’d come here to do for her sister.

16

---