Maybe once upon a time Jacob had a guest bedroom, but it's completely covered over now by empty pizza boxes, back issues of Paranoia, dirty laundry, and what have you, Amelia doesn't even know. She and Claire sit in his kitchen with their glasses of juice while Jacob crashes around the room, 'cleaning' it.

It's not that Amelia doesn't like Jacob, but she was glad that he was one of the family members Jacob never insisted on visiting, and especially not after he appeared on TV yelling about the robots on the moon. They only ever saw him rarely on the few occasions they did Thanksgiving with Jimmy's folks instead of hers, Jimmy and Jacob keeping up a constant exchange of abuse entertaining enough for everyone to roll their eyes affectionately at, for everyone to ignore. But before the brothers could settle into any sort of real affection, Jimmy would always pull back. ("We weren't really close," Jimmy had explained, and Amelia just said, "Okay," and didn't pry.)

"It smells," Claire says, wrinkling her nose.

"Be polite, Claire," Amelia says. "Uncle Jake is helping us."

"When do we go home?" Claire wants to know, and Amelia rubs her forehead and looks away.

"Uh, Amelia?"

Amelia closes her eyes and counts to three while telling herself it's not Jimmy before lifting her head and meeting Jacob's gaze. It's like she keeps running into these carbon copies, these mockeries with the same blue eyes and curve of mouth telling her, "Nice attempt; try again!"

"The room's ready," says Jacob.

"Thanks, Jacob." She looks at her daughter. "Claire, you ready for bed?"

Claire says, "No," but within the half hour, she is fast asleep, and Amelia is still awake in Jacob's kitchen, nursing a beer. Jacob across the table has beer in hand too, and he is asking, "What happened?"

She has run through a few lies in her head on the way to Maine, but all of them still sound ridiculous, so she hides behind, "I'm not ready to talk about it yet," and when Jacob asks where his brother is, Amelia just says, "He's gone." And Jacob keeps prodding, keeps poking with a curiosity and fervency insensitive to raw wounds, until finally Amelia bursts out, "I'm going to bed. I'm really tired. Thanks for the beer, Jimmy."

"If you remember anything at all about Jimmy," Jacob is still insisting. "I know people, okay? They can help us find him."

And Amelia finds herself shaking her head, cuts herself off before she can say, "You can't." Instead she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," says Jacob, and the rasp in his voice is so unlike Jimmy, and reminds her of the angel, the power of heaven scraping Jimmy's human tenor to the earth.

"Good night," says Amelia, shuffling out the kitchen, "and thank you." And resists the urge to look back at what she knows isn't there.