On Saturday, Roderick awakes to the morning sun. He pokes the warm lump next to him; Molly moans and pulls the covers over his head.
Stretching, Roderick pads over to the laptop on his desk and surfs. He likes this story about Nigel Farage, and forwards a link to Lily Chang.
The memorial service for Mr. Lincoln is at ten this morning. Roderick, Molly and the Smiths breakfast on scrapple and applesauce, then walk the short distance to the Church of Nothing, where they meet the Blooms. Filing into church, they occupy one of the long pews in this order: Mr. and Mrs. Bloom, Mary Bloom, Margaret Bloom, Catherine Bloom (accompanied by Mr. Fuzzums and Miss Kitty), Roderick, Molly, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Smith.
It is customary at the Church of Nothing that the pastor places an urn holding the cremains of the departed on a table before the alter. The urn is flanked by a rosebud on either side (contributed by the Church) and additional flowers contributed by well-wishers and loved ones.
Today, the late Mr. Lincoln rests in his urn, flanked by two solitary rosebuds.
Catherine tugs on Roderick's elbow. "I'm having a nice day," she says.
Roderick puts his finger to his lips to shoosh her. The memorial service is starting.
A memorial service at the Church of Nothing is quite simple. There is no ceremony, sermon or formal remarks. Instead, members of the congregation simply sit quietly and, when the spirit moves them, rise individually and share their thoughts about the departed. When all have said their peace, the service is over.
Silence.
Mrs. Bickle rises. "He never smiled or anything." She resumes her seat.
Silence.
Miss Shlepstein from City Hall rises. "He was a nasty old man and I hated it when he came to my office."
More silence.
Roderick rises. "We used to wash his car." He sits down again. Molly noodges him.
Cough, cough, cough.
A man Roderick doesn't recognize rises. "He turned me down for a loan." He sits.
Silence.
Miss Prickle, a nurse who works for Dr. Schlong, the urologist, rises. "He groped me every time he came to the office."
The service over, Roderick and Molly walk home with Mr. and Mrs. Smith. On arrival, Mr. Smith beckons to Roderick. "Come on, there's something I want to show you in the garage."
Roderick shoves open the door to the carriage house out back -- which the Smiths use as a garage. Next to Mr. Smith's Studebaker Commander Roderick sees Mr. Lincoln's shiny black 1948 Buick Roadmaster four-door sedan resting comfortably.
Mr. Smith waves a pair of keys. "It's yours," he says, beaming. "Bought if from Mr. Lincoln a couple of months ago, when he went to the hospital."
"Wow" says Roderick. "A Roadmaster!"
Opening the driver's side door with a creak, Roderick slides beside the wheel, while Molly clambers in the other side and slides across the bench seat to snuggle next to him. Firing up the 150hp power plant and shifting the Dynaflow transmission into reverse, Roderick carefully backs the behemoth out of the garage and down the driveway much the way an ocean liner leaves its berth.
Shifting into Drive and pressing the gas, Roderick commands the beast to lumber up Elm Street. Passing twenty miles per hour, he thinks to himself that this moment is everything he's ever dreamed about: motoring up the street in a Roadmaster, with Molly by his side.
