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The Rapture makes serving divorce papers difficult. “Consider yourself–” is all Shyler gets through before they disappear–pop!–leaving just their shoes behind. Does everyone in Heaven, she wonders, float around in sockfeet?

After a few weeks Shyler starts thinking that the number of deadbeats getting assumed into paradise is really high. Might she be God’s unwitting messenger? She prays lots of cuss words about that, on hold for hours with the Vatican. A raspy prelate tells her she needs witnesses.

So next time she takes Eugene along but the Rapture gets him too, which sucks (he had the car keys).