I whistle, loud and sharp. She nods. “It was a jarring experience. But that’s what I think makes us so fortunate, Andre. We get to see history firsthand. Explore parts of it that have been excluded by the victors or get front-row seats to the biggest, most important events. It’s a luxury and a blessing.”

“And a curse,” I add, putting the dish in the oven.

“This again?”

“It’s one thing to be able to look back at history with twenty-twenty hindsight and think, I would have done this differently if I were there, but to actually be there and do nothing? Doesn’t that make us worse than the people who can’t do anything?”

Without missing a beat, as if she had been waiting for me to step right into that trap and come to that conclusion, she responds. “Rule number three,” she reminds me. “We can’t change the past.”

“Because why?” I object.

“Because there’s no almanac that can tell us how one change will affect the rest of the world. What if we stopped a bomber from destroying a building, but instead he bombs a stadium?”

“Or what if because you stopped the bomber, someone inside that building lives and is able to find a cure for cancer?” I counter.

“We can’t make a concrete choice in the hopes of an abstract solution, Andre.”

“That’s exactly what science is.”

“We can agree to disagree on that topic.”

The room falls silent as she continues to prepare dinner. I busy myself, getting what she needs when she asks for it, trying to predict what she will need before she has to ask. We continue this standstill, this awkward dance, for about ten minutes.

“How is being taught by my son working out for you?” she asks, looking up as she sifts some flour into a bowl. “He’s not going too fast, is he?”

“We only started the basics,” I explain. “Rules, regulations, the boring stuff of time travel.”

“But important.” She points a wooden spoon at me. Flour mixed with eggs threatens to drip off. “Those rules are there for your—and every time traveler’s—protection, Andre.”

“You sound like my parents.”

“Then they must be very wise, and I hope to meet them someday. Reach into the fridge and get me the bacon, will you?”

I follow through, getting the three-pound bag of bacon. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. But work on chopping that up while you do.”

“How did you know?” I ask. “That I time traveled the first time. You said you felt it. How?”

Claire doesn’t stop stirring her pot, but from my side view, I can see the playful, teasing smile on her lips. “This is probably not the answer you want to hear, but some things in the world cannot yet be explained by science. They just are.”