“Where did you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Right then, you stopped in the middle of a sentence. Like you were thinking about something.”

He pushes his lips into a thin line. “It was nothing.”

“I’d reckon it was obviously something.”

“I said it was nothing!”

His voice hits like a wave of ice-cold water. Now it’s my turn to tense up. Blake runs his fingers through his hair, sighing so hard that his nostrils flare. For two minutes, he makes himself busy, moving books, organizing papers, changing objects around, and making sure of his tactile sense.

“What you’re doing? All that touching? It helps you stay grounded, right? I do it, too, except for me, it’s pacing.”

At first, he doesn’t respond; he only hesitates, as if he’s been discovered. Then, slowly, he turns to me, but he doesn’t move any closer. He keeps the distance—because, I can only guess, the distance makes him feel safe—and crosses one leg over the other.

“I was going to say I’m not a scientist like you, my mom, or my brother.”

Ah. Of course. The dead brother. Great job poking the sore spot, Andre.

“David, right?”

“Dave. Only Mom and Dad called him David. He hated it.”

“Dave,” I repeat slowly. I make a mental note to remember that. “Were you two close?”

Before I can finish, Blake’s already pulling out his wallet. He tosses it to me, and the first thing I see, besides his ID, is a photo of him and his brother.

“We weren’t as close as some people are with their siblings,” he admits. “But we were there for each other when it counted. He was family.”

“That doesn’t mean that you liked each other,” I say gently. “Not everyone likes their family. You don’t have to like them. Only love them.”

This time, Blake opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. I don’t blame him. It’s a hard question, deciding whether you like or love a family member. Everyone wants to think that they like their family, but that’s not always the case. That’s a luxury. And once you realize that? Things become…tricky.

I’m lucky enough to like and love my parents. Maybe that expression “Money can’t buy happiness” really is true.

“But—more importantly, what’s rule number three?” I ask. Might as well try to bring back his focus. “You said there are three rules; you only gave me two.”

Blake hesitates, but I can see him slowly restarting. “Yeah, right. The rules,” he mutters. “Rule number three, and this is kind of an all-encompassing rule: don’t try to change anything that happens in the past. Don’t take anything, don’t change anything. You should go and come back and leave no evidence of your existence.

“Which reminds me…” Blake moves close, completely invading my personal space, and starts patting me down.