CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

55

Bastien and I go back to his house. Caro is already there, arms crossed tapping her foot on the porch. I get out of Bastien car without my bag and I look at her. Her overalls have paint on the knees. She's got some on the side of her face closest to me too, just a swipe near her ear that I'm sure she didn't see when she tried to clean herself in the mirror.

"Absolute idiot," she says when she sees me. "You're an idiot."

"I want to go to Québec."

She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at me. She's tanner then she was when I last saw her, and there are freckles on her face peeking out from the sun's exposure. They aren't red like mine, but they are just as soft.

"Don't be ridiculous," Caro says.

Bastien slams the door behind us. He brushes around me, not with my bag either, and hurries into the house. Caro lets him cross the threshold but moves back when I'm there.

I look down at the watch on my arm, "let me guess, I'm not going anywhere for ten hours until Stéphane arrives?"

Caro scoffs. She digs into her pocket and pulls out keys, "you're not the only Morel who knows how to book a plane ticket, you know. He'll be here soon."

She walks to her car, parked next to Bastien's. When I don't move she huffs and gestures for me to follow her. I have to maneuver around this side and squeeze in the narrow gap between their cars since Bastien pulled in narrow at the front, but then I sit in the car. It smells like air freshener, not paint, which is nice. Caro starts the engine and pulls out.

"Bastien's house is a mess, so I'll give him time to clean," she says as she pulls out of the driveway. It feels so quiet, even with her noisy car engine. "Besides, Stéphane is going to be an anxious nightmare if we leave you and Bastien to your devices for an hour."

"Bastien and I are big kids, you know?" I roll my eyes. "We don't need a babysitter."

She flashes a mean stare at me.

We drive down the street. My hand goes to the car stereo. She lives far enough away that her favourite stations are going to cut out soon, so I put on the player. Jazz music plays. Caro flinches, her hands tightening on the wheel.

A sax solo starts to spread out from the speakers. The blue paint on her face cannot hide her blush. It's pink and vibrant, like mine too.

Reid said he would have always guessed she and I were sisters, back when he saw the photograph of us on the desk. He knew we look alike. I guess we are just the same.

"I wanted the trip to be just you and I, you know," I point out.

Caro tightens her grip, "what were you even thinking? I have a life, you know. I can't just drop it all at a hat for you."

"You did," I answer.

She snorts.

Now it's a piano solo. She switches to the next track in the CD. It's still jazz music, and I watch her nose scrunch. I don't know what she was thinking.

"I'm not like you, you know," I tell her.

Caro laughs, "yeah, I know. I'm a homebody who is pinning herself to a guy her family pretends to tolerate. None of you are good actors, you know?"

"No," I cut her off before she can continue. I lean my head back against the headrest. "You're an emotional sap who cares about everyone else in our family more than yourself. I know you had a great time in France. I know you want to live in Québec, and you don't because the three of us wouldn't go back with you. All you do is sacrifice yourself for everyone, just in a different way then the rest of us."