Over Yonder, page 29
In the name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you.
He was thinking about all the people he’d met in life. About the guys in prison. So hopeless and forgotten. So rejected and alone.
In the name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you.
And there was light too. Just like all the near-death stories said there would be. It was warm light. A kind of serene happiness. Like sunbathing on a summer day. Like the kiss of a loved one. Like cuddling with a lover in the early hours of morning. Like standing next to a window with a baby in your arms.
And there were people around him. Lots of people. A roomful of humans, in fact. Hundreds of them, maybe. He wondered where they had all come from. He didn’t recognize them all. But they were there. Too many to fit in one room, and yet somehow they all fit. He saw people like his grandfather. Standing over him, smiling. He saw his mother; she looked like a teenager again. He saw Melinda, healthy and strong. And happy. He saw Lindsey Holcomb, dressed in a white linen dress. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was whole.
Caroline remained at his bedside. Elizabeth was also next to him, her warm hand resting against his face. Rachel was holding his hand. The Major was smiling at him with tears in his eyes as he rocked the baby on his hip. He could not hear what anyone was saying, but they were all talking to him in soft voices.
People everywhere. Both living and not. All around him. And in the end, it came down to people. Life did. It wasn’t about what you had done. It wasn’t about what you had accomplished. It wasn’t about how much fun you had, how much money you made, or whether you left your family with a great life insurance policy. It was about who you loved. Love was the only thing you could take with you.
May your rest be this day in peace.
“I’m losing his pulse,” a nurse said.
“We need to bag him.”
May your dwelling place be in the paradise of God.
“It’s okay, Woody,” said Elizabeth, speaking through tears. “We’re going to be okay. You can leave us. We’re going to be okay.”
He squeezed her hand. “Mizpah,” he said.
“Mizpah,” Elizabeth said.
And Woody Barker died of a massive heart attack.
Epilogue
“Mom! You’re going to be late!”
Gary was shouting from the bottom of the staircase. He was thirteen. And at this age, he was already a stickler for being on time. He was a stickler about everything, actually. He was cocky. He was smart. He was a know-it-all. All teenagers are know-it-alls, which makes life considerably harder on those of us who actually do.
“Mom! We’re supposed to be there in fifteen minutes!”
“Get your panties out of your crack!” Caroline shouted. “I’m still getting ready!”
Caroline was digging through the sock drawer. She was only wearing her bra and jeans. Her husband was sitting on the bed, playing on his phone. Probably fantasy football or whatever in God’s name it was he did whenever he wasn’t taking care of the house, coaching Little League games, or preparing chicken divan for three.
“Have you seen my T-shirt?” Caroline asked.
“T-shirt?”
“I keep it in the sock drawer.”
“And you’re looking at me?”
“Mom! Hurry!”
“I don’t know where you keep anything in this house,” her husband said. “I can’t step foot in your office without causing an avalanche.”
Caroline slammed the drawer and collapsed on the bed.
“This is so stupid. I don’t even want to go do this. It’s not like I don’t have enough to do today.”
Rumack came behind and entwined both arms around her.
“Get dressed. Go downstairs and do this for your son. Forget about that shirt. Anything you wear will be great. You don’t need it.”
“Yes, I do. It’s important.”
Caroline allowed him one kiss. One kiss turned into four; then she shoved him onto the bed.
When she went downstairs, she found Gary sitting on his backpack. Waiting. When he saw his mother wearing only her brassier, Gary rolled his eyes, then tapped his smartwatch.
“We’re officially late, Mom. Thanks.”
“Avert your eyes, child, I’m not dressed.”
“Are you serious?”
She ignored him and dug through a pile of clothing in the laundry room. Over the past week, dirty clothes had piled up to form a miniature Mount Shasta of crap. She found the shirt in question. It was clean. It smelled like Gain.
“Thank you, thank you, God,” she whispered to the ceiling.
She donned the Willie Nelson 1989 T-shirt. It was still a little big on her. She adjusted the shirt on her shoulders, then stuffed her mother’s necklace into the collar.
“You’re going to do great,” Rumack said as he handed her a cup of steaming hot coffee, black, just the way she liked it.
She kissed her husband goodbye, and mother and son left the house. They sprinted through the garage, which was crowded with mountain bikes, three kayaks, power tools, fishing gear, and various other garage-related effluvia that was a prerequisite for any respectable suburban American existence. She shooed the army of cats out of the garage before shutting the door, most of them inherited from her late grandfather.
They jumped in Caroline’s Passport and rode through Huntsville traffic, breaking the speed limit. Huntsville traffic was no laughing matter. It was a lot like driving through Dante’s Fifth Circle of Hell, only slower.
Gary didn’t say much on the car ride. He was too busy texting the girlfriend du jour. Lydia was her name. Or maybe it was Laura. Or Lana. It started with an L.
They pulled into the middle school on Bob Wallace Avenue (Go Panthers!). And Caroline noticed how nervous and eager Gary was. He was already jumping out of the car before it had—technically—stopped moving. He was checking his phone again.
“Come on, Mom! Let’s go!”
“Hold on,” said Caroline. “I haven’t even put the car in Park.”
But Gary was already jogging toward the doors.
Soon Caroline was trotting through the parking lot, chasing her son.
“I swear,” Caroline yelled. “If you don’t slow down and wait for me, I will choke you with your phone charger and bury you in the backyard!”
At this exact moment the school principal happened to be exiting his car.
Caroline smiled at the principal.
“I was just kidding, of course,” she explained. “I could never do that to my son. His phone charger isn’t nearly long enough.”
The principal didn’t smile back.
Gary and Caroline rushed to the classroom, sprinting up the steps. Elizabeth met them on the staircase. She embraced Caroline, pecked her on the forehead, and stared at the T-shirt with warm eyes.
The three of them rushed past the band room, where brass music was thrumming from the walls. They passed a laboratory where one of the teachers was wearing safety goggles and working with Bunson burners. They passed classroom after classroom until they arrived at a door at the end of the hall.
Gary opened the door quietly.
The teenage boy crept inside, then motioned for Caroline and his grandmother to follow. Gary clutched his backpack in both arms and found a place for them at the rear of the room.
At the front of the classroom was a man in a NASA jumpsuit uniform standing before a silent class. The spacesuit was the color of a traffic cone. He spoke in a loud, sturdy, TED Talk voice, describing something about “atmospheric reentry.” He used words nobody understood. And in his hand he was holding a model of a rocket.
Gary whispered, “That’s Chase’s dad.”
“An astronaut,” said Caroline. “Great. I’m going after a spaceman.”
“Well,” said Gary, “I could’ve asked Dad to come instead. He could have given a riveting speech about his graveyard shift at the Amazon shipping center.”
Caroline gave Gary the stink eye.
“He couldn’t have come,” she said. “He has group therapy on Mondays.”
“He would’ve canceled.”
“Yes, he’s very good at canceling.”
Neither of them moved a facial muscle.
Caroline was standing with all the other parents who kept their backs against the wall like wallflowers at the senior prom. The parents all watched Rocket Man’s presentation, silently comparing their own flailing professional careers with the Buzz Aldrin of the eighth grade.
One of the students raised a hand. The student asked Rocket Man which planets NASA was going to explore next. The guy in the spacesuit got really excited about this question. For the next ten minutes, he used a professorial voice, drawing engineering schematics on a whiteboard, delivering an answer to the student’s question that lasted longer than a public recitation of The Brothers Karamazov.
When he finished, everyone gave a round of applause.
“I am not going after him,” said Caroline to Elizabeth.
Then the teacher looked at Gary.
“Gary, is your mother ready?”
Gary said, “Someone else can go in front of us. It’ll take a minute for my mom to get ready.”
Caroline was astonished at her son being so thoughtful. This grubby teenager. This sweet, handsome, optimistic, innocent, brilliant, talented little wiseass.
So someone else’s mom got in front of the class and talked about her home renovations company. In the meantime, Caroline was digging into her backpack and removing her vestments.
Gary helped his mom get dressed. She wore her white chasuble and multicolored stole, which was made of dozens of patches sewn together. The stole had come from Caroline’s very first group of unwed mothers, who met at the YWCA. Long ago, the pregnant single mothers had all pitched in and sewed the stole for Caroline, using T-shirts from their own wardrobe. Each colorful patch represented a person to Caroline. Their group affectionately called themselves Upcycled Trash. She stayed in touch with each of them even after all these years. She maintained contact with many unwed mothers.
Caroline Rivers was the founder of a chain of homes for unwed mothers: the Sunflower House. They had started with one home in Mobile, Alabama. But over an eight-year span, they had expanded to forty-three locations, stretching across twenty-one states, from Maine to Texas; Oregon to Florida. Rachel worked at the home in Pensacola. The homes were privately funded. Nobody knew where the money came from, but they always had what they needed.
Finally, it was Caroline’s turn to present.
She adjusted her stole. Gary squeezed his mother’s hand.
“You know what I wish?” whispered Elizabeth. “I wish your dad was here to see this.”
Caroline’s eyes pinkened.
She walked to the front of the class, all eyes on her. Her son was snapping photos in rapid succession with his phone.
The teacher said, “Let’s give Gary’s mother a warm welcome.”
Everyone clapped half-heartedly. Except Gary and Elizabeth, who clapped like they were trying to break their wrists.
When Caroline got to the front of the room, the teacher leaned in to speak to Caroline. “I’m sorry,” the teacher whispered. “I don’t really know what to call a female priest. Am I’m supposed to call you Mother or Reverend or something?”
Caroline smiled.
“I don’t care what you call me, just don’t call me Shirley.”
Discussion Questions
How does Woody’s accident impact all of his relationships?
Did you think Elizabeth’s response to learning about Caroline was realistic? Would you have responded differently?
What role did religion and faith play throughout the novel, positively and negatively?
Peter was a vicious criminal, but did you find him likeable at all? Why or why not?
How does the author’s use of multiple points of view add or detract from the impact of the story? If you had to chose one character’s story to reflect the events, which one would you chose and why?
What do you think it felt like for Woody to conduct the last rites for Melinda? To hear them conducted later by Caroline?
Were you rooting for Tater to turn his life around, or do you think he had done too much damage?
What did Gary the goldfish provide Caroline?
Who was your favorite character and why?
“Woody believed that every person was given one adventure in their lifetime.” Do you think this is true? Have you had a significant adventure in your life, one that “makes you more human than you ever thought you could be”?
Amos and Woody had a complicated relationship, but how did their love and affection for one another reveal itself throughout the novel?
Were you satisfied with the ending of the novel? With how Caroline ended up using the Confederate treasure? Her marriage to Rumack? If not, how would you have concluded the novel?
About the Author
Photo by Sarah Dietrich
SEAN DIETRICH is a columnist, humorist, multi-instrumentalist, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared on The Today Show and in Newsweek, Southern Living, Garden and Gun, and Reader’s Digest. His column appears weekly in newspapers throughout the US. He has authored eighteen books and over four thousand columns. He tours his one-man show throughout the US, makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry, hosts the Sean of the South podcast, and he’s a really nice guy.
* * *
Visit Sean online at seandietrich.com
Instagram: @seanofthesouth
Facebook: @seanofthesouth
X: @seanofthesouth1
Back Ad
Praise for Sean Dietrich
“I first read Sean Dietrich’s work a few years ago when an email was sent to me with a persuasive argument that he should make his debut appearance on the Grand Ole Opry, the Nashville, Tennessee-based show that made country music famous. Convinced it was time he appeared on our stage and the world’s longest-running radio show, I first met Sean backstage at the Opry in early spring 2023 on the night of his Opry debut. That evening, Sean received a standing ovation from the Opry audience before he’d even spoken a word or sang a note. The crowd was clearly there to see one of their favorite personalities make a dream come true. When Sean appeared at the Opry a second time, he followed Country Music Hall of Famer Bill Anderson, the Opry’s longest-serving member ever. As Mr. Anderson stepped off stage and Sean prepared to go on, I encouraged Bill to stand side stage and watch Sean do his thing— tell tales of the South and tie them together with old-time favorites. Neither Bill nor anyone else in the Opry House was disappointed. In many ways, I’d describe Sean’s latest work the way I described Sean’s on-stage persona to Mr. Anderson that night. It goes without saying we’ll be entertained. More specifically, we’re introduced to characters we won’t soon forget, we’ll all likely both chuckle and tear up, and we could very well reflect on the purpose of our lives. I am convinced Mr. Dietrich has found his, both on the Opry airwaves and by sharing his written words, not the least of which are those in Over Yonder.”
—Dan Rogers, executive producer, Grand Ole Opry, for Over Yonder
“Over Yonder is a story of deeply complicated people having a deeply human experience. It's a love story for the tender-hearted, full of unexpected grace. Sean Dietrich brings to life a cast of Southern characters searching for meaning—and finding it in the most unlikely places. I hugged every single page.”
—Laura Kate Whitney, Editor at Large, Good Grit Magazine
“A heart-pumping and heartwarming story of redemption—with car chases. This book was a sweet, sad ride, which is my favorite kind.”
—Elizabeth Passarella, author of Good Apple and It Was an Ugly Couch Anyway, for Over Yonder
“Dietrich’s latest gem combines his trademark wit and compassion. Using short, unadorned sentences, there is a timeless universality to the way in which he conjures ordinary people scarred by hardscrabble lives. His prose has a familiarity and gentle reverence for his cast members, allowing each their moment in the sun. Minnie’s artistic coming-of-age is profound and uplifting, while Nub’s life-changing decision puts him back in touch with his feelings and those of everyone around him. Reminiscent of his previous novels, and skillfully date-stamped in the early seventies, Dietrich’s keen observations of his native Alabama underscore a natural love of life-affirming storytelling.”
—Historical Novel Society for Kinfolk
“Kinfolk is the Southern story you’ve been waiting for. I absolutely loved this delightful and heart-wrenching story chock-full of both laughter and tears. In a small Alabama town where everyone knows your darkest secrets, and where the Grand Ole Opry is a balm to the soul, we meet a cast of endearing and quirky characters you won’t forget. Kinfolk is a page-turning delight with Dietrich’s trademark humor and heart-filled insight. In this wild ride we call life, Dietrich has a special view and one he shares with wit and kindness in turn. When a young girl working at Waffle House and a sixty-five-year-old man whose life is falling apart cross paths in Park, Alabama, no one in their world will ever be the same. Kinfolk is a novel about second chances, deep love, forgiveness, and the power of country music—all wrapped up in a lyrically told story.”
—Patti Callahan Henry, New York Times bestselling author of The Secret Book of Flora Lea
“Sean Dietrich has a lovely, seasoned voice that’s anchored by his deep understanding of the charm and depth of the South. Kinfolk, the latest in his oeuvre, is a heartwarming and well-told tale with lyrical writing that’s as rich as my mother’s grits casserole. I’m left satisfied, uplifted, and perhaps a little homesick too.”
—Boo Walker, bestselling author of A Spanish Sunrise
“Sean Dietrich is a master at creating Southern characters who are relatable in their brokenness, hope, and perseverance. Laugh-out-loud colloquialisms bring sincerity and realism to small-town life. Kinfolk spins both a heartbreaking and heartwarming tale about family, redemption, second chances, and the power of love that moves us all.”
