The Righteous Gemzine - Vol. I

The Righteous Gemzine

A Message from the Editor

This zine is the product of several months of labor and love from over a dozen talented artists! It has been an immense pleasure to work with such creative minds, all for the purpose of celebrating one of our favorite shows ever. The Righteous Gemstones has brought together so many people from all over the world, and I know we are all elated to share our work with everyone, especially in anticipation of the upcoming fourth season!

To anyone reading this - thank you for taking the time to appreciate the dedication of all who contributed. Every piece has hours and hours of work behind it, and I am honored that these artists heard my call and answered with such inspired creativity. So enjoy this zine, share it with thy neighbor, and check out the contributor bio pages to see how & where you can support these artists!

Go bonkers!

~ Caelan

Cover art by Michelle

Zine layout & formatting by Caelan

The individual works enclosed belong to the artists that contributed them. Artists are free to publish their contributions elsewhere on the Internet or in-person, for profit or not for profit.

MILO • HE/HIM

SARA • SHE/THEY

@LAZYBAKERART (TUMBLR)

Location: California, USA

Favorite Quote: “It makes my bird twitch”Judy

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

Other Interests: Yu Yu Hakusho & Harringrove (Stranger Things)

@THRILL-KILL-KULT (TUMBLR) @JEFFGAYZOS (AO3)

Location: Colorado, USA

Favorite Scenes: The Kelvin/Keefe kiss and Kelvin saving Keefe from Club Sinister

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

Other Interests: Fallout & Mass Effect

ZOË• SHE/HER

MICHELLE • SHE/HER

@GLOOMSDAY (TUMBLR/IG) @GLXXMSDAY (TWT)

Location: Oregon, USA

Favorite Quote: “I’m putting on creams” - Judy

Favorite Character: Kelvin Gemstone

Other Interests: Scavengers Reign, Barry, Abbott Elementary, Sufjan Stevens, NMH

MICHELLE IS TAKING COMMISSIONS!

@MOCHIIPARADISE (ALL PLATFORMS)

Location: California, USA

Favorite Scene: Amber shooting Jesse in the ass

Favorite Character: Jesse Gemstone

Other Interests: The Beatles & It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

MARV • HE/THEY

@POORLY_ANIMATED (AO3)

Location: USA

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

DISCO • HE/HIM

@DISCODEVIANT (TUMBLR/AO3) @SMUTBUSTIN (IG)

Location: New York/South Carolina, USA

Favorite Quote: “I hope the devil fucks you dry!” - Jesse

Other Interests: Harringrove (Stranger Things),

Red Dead Redemption, Detroit: Become Human, TV/film production

LU FARMER • HE/HIM

@MELTEDSUNDROPS (IG)

Location: Chicago, IL, USA

Favorite Quote: “Doesn’t matter. I love my bi son” - Jesse

Favorite Character: Gideon Gemstone

Other Interests: Ace Attorney & M*A*S*H

LENA • SHE/HER

@COJACKK (IG) @DERSHOIMVIK (X)

Location: Ohio, USA

Favorite Scene: Judy yelling at Eli when she “caught” him with Junior

Favorite Character: Jesse Gemstone

Other Interests: Workaholics, TV on the Radio, LCD Soundsystem, FOB, other music & TV

LENA IS TAKING COMMISSIONS!

CHARLIE • HE/HIM

@SPORKAZOID (ALL PLATFORMS)

Location: USA

Favorite Character: Kelvin Gemstone

GRACE • SHE/THEY

Location: Oregon, USA

Favorite Scene: The Gemstone siblings slipping in Thaniel’s blood

Favorite Character: Jesse Gemstone

Other Interests: Yellowjackets, Ghosts (US & UK), Doctor Who, What We Do in the Shadows, X-Files, Hannibal, history & literature

MADDIE • SHE/THEY

@DEADATDARKMORE (TUMBLR)

Location: Oregon, USA

Favorite Quote: “I promise to keep your secret, and if I don’t, you can cut my tongue out with rusty shears and bury it deep” - Keefe

Favorite Characters: Keefe & Aunt Tiffany

Other Interests: 80s-00s horror movies

MADDIE IS TAKING COMMISSIONS!

LIMBED • SHE/THEY

@LIMBED (TUMBLR/AO3)

Location: Pennsylvania, USA

Favorite Quote: “SO I CAN SURF FASTER, JESSE!” - Judy

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

Other Interests: Yellowjackets, Game of Thrones/HOTD, horror genre

NICK ACTON • HE/HIM

@CSNY (TUMBLR) NWACTON.COM

Location: Washington, USA

Favorite Quote: “I love my bi son” - Jesse

Favorite Character: Jesse Gemstone

Other Interests: Neil Young & toxic yaoi

CAELAN • THEY/THEM

@WEHOHANK (AO3)

Location: California, USA

Favorite Quote: “This is the bonkers part of the program” - Uncle Baby Billy

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

Other Interests: Barry, Abbott Elementary, The Bear, movies, reality TV & crafting

AMES • HE/THEY

@AMEST.ART (IG) @AMESS_ART (TWT)

Location: New York City, USA

Favorite Scene: Any scene with Keefe in it

Favorite Character: Keefe Chambers

Other Interests: What We Do in the Shadows & performing drag

AMES IS TAKING COMMISSIONS!

JD • HE/HIM

@JDMARA (TUMBLR/AO3) @THEJDMARA (TWT)

Location: Midwest USA

Favorite Quote: “Well, then, uh, meow-meow, son” - UBB

Favorite Characters: Baby Billy & Tiffany

Other Interests: Horror movies, writing, and deep-diving actors’ entire filmographies

by Disco

EXODUS (n.) “a mass departure”, from Greek exodos (ex- “out of” and hodos, “road” or “way”), often referring to The Book of Exodus which narrates the Israelites’ liberation and migration from slavery in Biblical Egypt in the 13th century BCE; less commonly referring to the amusement park ride, Exodus, a 72ft (22m) roller coaster located in Righteous Park in Charleston, South Carolina, USA.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.

1968.

In his youth Eli Gemstone was not a righteous man but ignoble in the eyes of God whose very being was nothing short of absurd to him; Eli believed in the universe. He followed its sermons which were vaguely weaved into their own credence, long out of his realm and into fiercer hands. Those hands were proud of him even when Daddy Roy Gemstone was not. They housed him, for hours at a time, in an old warehouse which echoed the voice of the weekend crowd. They fed him and dressed him in black nylon that stretched to fit his strapping mass while an artificial Tennessee sunset remained static over damp, flushed faces.

MANIAC KID.

Men read it and wept.

Glendon Marsh, a breath younger and more commanding than Eli’s father, manned the spool, spun the web from barbs and gutted swine, luring him in with the siren’s song of the Memphis underground. “You could always make more money, Eli.” The devil’s voice, callous and rotten; Glendon sat behind his desk, almost too big for its tiny office chair, and gnawed the end of a cigar before lighting it with a match. “But not like that. Not now, s’too soon,” he said. Eli faltered.

Glendon Marsh, cunning and overzealous, refused this time to pounce before sunrise, instead remaining idle in the tall, dry grass for his prey to come to him.

“So… you’re lettin’ him run with your money.”

He laughed—“Elijah, don’t you know me at all?”—then kicked his oafish legs up on the desk and leaned back, sucking that fine Cuban import through his teeth and right back out.

“I know he’s gonna be on a plane to Timbuk-fuckin’-tu if we don’t go tonight.”

“Go to his house, Eli, and tell me he ain’t watchin’ the television static all by hisself. That goddamned fool. Should be thankin’ me, all I done for him. Ungrateful bastard.” Glendon reached into a tight pocket for his billfold, thick with bloody cash, and brought out a clip of ten ten-dollar bills. “Here. Now get yourself cleaned up and go home, y’understand? We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Eli took it. “Yessir.”

Resist him, steadfast in the faith…

He was late to dinner that night. Errands for the Lord, he said, the same excuse time and again

which Daddy Roy didn’t appreciate any more than the last week or the week before that. With his hands clasped, labored fingers intertwined, Daddy said, “You’ll be sorry if I hear that engine tonight.”

Eli took a breath and closed his eyes, mirroring Daddy’s stance in prayer, and led the four of them— Mama and sister Mary closing the table—halfheartedly to supper. “Thank you, o heavenly Father, for this meal and for our family.” He rubbed at his knuckles, faintly stained with Hazy the Hound’s blood which Daddy hadn’t noticed; every thought was miles from home. “We remain grateful. Amen.” “Amen.”

… else fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock…

It was inevitable that one day Eli would discover a flaw in Glendon’s logic glaring enough to fix it himself without asking the big man first, without consulting Junior Marsh and asking for a ride. If Daddy listened real close that night, he might have heard Eli’s window slide open with no engine to follow. He’d have heard a drop into the bushes, too light for his athlete son or a raccoon on the prowl—and then silence, because Eli had learned how to walk toe-to-heel for nights when Glendon had plans for him. But Daddy wouldn’t know, nor would he believe, that Glendon for once was not responsible. This was Eli’s job.

MANIAC KID, now a one-man show.

What he dropped was a Gordon & Smith flex-board that Daddy never knew about, the best eighteen dollars he had ever spent. Just down the road from the Gemstone homestead, he began the journey uptown where he would see for himself that Glendon was wrong. Thrice-checked, the address matched, and a grey Oldsmobile sat with the engine on. He leaned his skateboard against a tree; mask on, he checked to find the car empty and the house’s front door opened just a hair. From inside, a woman yelled with blubbering anger, fearful, hysterical, shoving a tall twig of a man out to his car, which Eli had already snuck his way into. Fitting under a back seat was Junior’s gig any other night, but Eli squeezed in just fine.

and from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things;…

Twenty minutes or so later and the car was on a back road somewhere without streetlights, without houses, without sound besides fat tires over gravel. The driver’s name was Kip, short for Christopher, shorter for “Christ alive,” which he said to the gunman behind his head.

“Don’t move,” Eli told him, soft, calm, MANIAC KID in front of his good Christian family name. He’d moved up to sit on the back seat properly and take hold of Kip’s seatbelt to tug tightly over his neck. “Pull over.” The snub-nose was old, worn, and unloaded, his favorite accessory to scare guys who couldn’t tell one heel from the other. Shaking like a leaf, Kip followed orders. “Now tell me where you think you’re goin’.”

“My—my sister’s house. She’s real—she’s real sick, mister, I don’t got the money just yet—“

“Oh, don’t do that, don’t bullshit me.”

“I ain’t, I swear!”

“These seats are awful firm, don’t you think?”

“… What?” Kip asked, terribly short of breath, just before his neck was released with a deep red line

diagonal across the center, holding it with one hand to soothe the itch left behind.

Eli, with his hand free, reached for the seat’s back corner, playing with the seams through his own biking gloves, still able to pick apart a poor job and tear the stitches out one by one. “I know amateurs a mile away,” he said—pop, pop, rrrrrrrip. “Huh… would you look at that.” His eyes were fixed ahead of him, watching Kip’s dart from his face to the bundle of cash in his hand. “This ain’t your money, friend.”

“I—I—“

“Now, you’re gonna turn this car around and drive us to the Legion. Are we clear?”

“I—but—“

Moments like this, which weren’t nearly as rare as Eli let himself believe, he was taller than the sun, arms hot like the pointed rays glowering from the corner of a picture book. Kip slurred excuse after plea after excuse again. Maybe Eli pitied pathetic men, but MANIAC KID saw the soft indent at Kip’s temple and hit it hard with the base of a rosewood grip, damn near knocking him unconscious.

“Drive, motherfucker!”

… even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.

2021.

“Sometimes I fail to understand how you can forgive men like me.”

This was his only time alone.

With no one to bear witness to Doctor Eli Gemstone at his most irresolute, no one but the mockingbirds who flew overhead, ignorant to his suffering and completely at ease, he rested both elbows on the foam-wrapped handlebar and prayed.

“After all I’ve done and all these years, I still wonder what on Earth I did to deserve my AimeeLeigh.” Silently the wind blew northwards against the front of his face, nippy enough for his eyes to water unless it was from inside where the ache of remorse began once again, but that was why he liked it so high up. Only the Lord could reach him there, haunted as he was by what he’d done.

“I wonder what makes a man a killer.”

Haunted as he was by Kip’s aging spirit, Eli hadn’t lived a guiltless day since.

“What makes me…”

A deep, heavy sigh came from the base of his gut; saying it never got any easier. He remembered Kip every morning and night, just a scared, stupid man whose worst day ended with his life before the sun had the chance to shine again.

“… a killer.”

The difference, Eli hoped, though minimal, was his intention: scare Kip, impress Glendon, prove himself worthy of some higher cause. He’d brought Kip back to American Legion long after hours where Glendon counted stacks of filthy cash, rolled coins and cut paper-thin lines which Junior sought after with no success (“C’mon, Daddy, just one—“ “Hell-thefuck-no!” ). Eli may just as well have walked in with a ghost; Kip, snow-pale to start, was dead in five minutes. But the moments between his life and death were lost to Eli’s poor, addled head, too dizzy to think beyond getting home without Daddy Roy knowing that he’d left. One minute his hand gripped a thin neck, unloaded gun in the other to point right at the tear-bloated

bastard; and the next his arm had wrapped around like a hungry boa, and Junior was yelling and Glendon was watching, and God finally intervened when it was too late.

At the very peak of Exodus, where its train car just tipped over the edge, right before the drop, Eli had the same debate in his mind that he always did. He feared God could hear his every thought because he was of the Lord, and the Lord was he, and He would find the same doubt running through Eli’s blood that had been since he was a boy.

Why didn’t you stop me sooner?

Dare he try to ask?

“Oh, please forgive me.” He leaned forward and lolled his forehead on his praying hands, melancholy seeping back into his mind from the cloud it hung around in. “Please, oh, please, that wasn’t me back then,” he said, though some deep-rooted part of him never believed it. “Lord, am I sorry. I’m sorry, Aimee-Leigh, I’m so sorry, Kip…” So went the voices of his present who would have changed the past on a dime if it meant meeting Aimee-Leigh any sooner than he did, or being born without the devil tucked away somewhere unreachable by his own hand.

“I’m trying to be a good man,” he said, but I was damned from the start.

And it was right under his feet, the only proof God or anyone else would need, a secret buried with that particular set of burdens: Glendon Marsh with a bullet through his chest, courtesy of the late Daddy Roy Gemstone years ago who had manipulated senility to its core.

“We goin’ huntin’, Eli!”

Not a question that time but a demand, and there was no time to stop the gunshot; given the chance, Eli still wasn’t sure if he’d have taken it. To see Glendon dead was a weight off his back greater than the Flood. Daddy wanted that man gone and got what he wished for and maybe didn’t care what the Lord had to say.

Eli, he sure wouldn’t have.

Martin Imari

Ok. Ready to come down now.

You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies.

- John 8:44

by Marv

One thing they don’t tell you about separating from your lying, cheating, shrimp-d*ck husband: your kids will miss him. No matter how much of a selfish, unfunny, bald, pig-headed b*stard he is, and no matter what kinds of disgusting, probably-diseased strangers he’s touched, your daughters will continue to see that man as their father. As Daddy. And Daddy is nice, he’s good, he’s sweet, he’s, well, Daddy. In their eyes, he’s basically perfect, even after they’ve seen him completely nude and committing the most vile sins imaginable.

Which, in Mandy’s opinion, is freaking awful.

Even worse, Hannah and Joanna are refusing to be nice to Waylon. First it was Hannah saying she doesn’t like fish, then it was Joanna claiming she’s afraid of the ocean, and now both girls are being totally, completely impossible about Mandy’s perfectly reasonable suggestion that Waylon could start driving them to school. Apparently, Shrimp-D*ck Chad is just “better” at driving. It’s totally ridiculous. All of Mandy’s friends agree the girls are being totally ridiculous.

But when she asks Waylon if he’d like to start dropping the girls off in the mornings, just to take half the route away from Chad, what does he say? “No.” Not even a “maybe” on the table; just no, n-o, like the question doesn’t even matter to him. Like being part of this family doesn’t matter to him. That’s almost as ridiculous as the girls, Mandy thinks. Maybe even more ridiculous. After all, she’s been nothing but wonderful about visiting his stinking boat.

Every night, before he goes to sleep, Chad goes out to the motel parking lot and cleans his car. He vacuums up the bits of goldfish and wipes down any sticky spots and replenishes the tissues he keeps in the console; he checks under the seats no less than three times just in case either of the girls dropped anything. He has to keep it nice, for the girls. Mandy isn’t really letting him see them outside of the daily commute.

Every morning, right after he finishes his coffee, Chad sits down to queue up the day’s soundtrack, picking from Hannah’s constantly-changing *best songs ever* playlist on the family Spotify while making sure to include that one song that mentions “home” a lot, the one with a bunch of clapping that gets Joanna excited. Hannah doesn’t like that one as much, but the way Chad sees it, Hannah can handle not having her way for two entire minutes. Her sister should be happy during Daddy’s Carpool Radio Hour, too.

(If Chad had followed through on the five-month-long dream of hosting his college radio station, which came to an end because Jesse said he could get a church job, would he have been tempted by so much sin? Would he have been caught? Would Mandy still be with him?)

(Or would she still want a man with a bigger pecker?)

Once the day’s playlist is finished (fine-tuned according to yesterday’s comments from the audience, of course), Chad gets in his car, which is a thousand times better than his motel room because the girls are actually allowed inside it. He drives from the shitty motel all the way over to the house he’s been thrown out of, trying not to think about whether Waylon was there the night before, or whether he’ll be there this coming evening, or whether the girls like him, or whether his pecker is really as big as Mandy said. Mostly, when Chad tries not to think about these things, he winds up thinking about God. Which is what Jesse told him to do. “Trust God.”

Six months have gone by now with Chad just “Trusting God.”

Whenever he thinks about that, he nearly crashes the car.

Today, like most Thursdays, Chad gets lucky: no Waylon in sight. Even better: the girls are talking to him again, really talking to him again, not just chit-chatting politely and asking when he’s coming home. Joanna was texting him yesterday. Texting! She even sent a picture of Mandy’s grocery list! Hannah talks and talks and talks for the entire twenty-minute car ride, ranting on and on about a girl named Abigail in her class who has the most stylish, amazing, super-cool socks ever in history, even though she’s a terrible person who doesn’t deserve them. Chad has to park immediately after dropping them off so he can cry.

By 3:30, Chad is ready. He’s got two bags of llama-print, pizza-print, palm-tree-print, and penguin-print socks from the brand that little bitch named Abigail likes, two fresh bottles of SmartWater, and four bags of groceries, all of which are the absolute highest possible quality version of the things on Mandy’s list. (Or, Chad hopes the pricier stuff is high-quality.) He’s gonna drop the girls off and bring the bags in, and then he’ll be invited in, and then—

“Daddy, people are honking?”

Right. First he has to drive the car.

Michelle

by Milo

Keefe’s skill with a saw has grown, and so has his hair and the muscle in his arms and the soreness in his chest right where his heart is, that stretches into his stomach and makes nothing taste good and everything ache, sometimes until he’s holding his arms across his middle and grinding his teeth.

He moves into a motel. Something cheap out beyond the suburbs, where deadbeat bachelors and blue collar alcoholics stay. It’s near enough to the wood shop. Far enough from the Gemstones. Close enough he can change his mind. It’s what he’d do if he was braver.

No. If he was brave, really brave, he’d ask to hold Kelvin’s hand. Oddly tame for him. He can’t stand the thought of doing anything more impure with Kelvin. The things he’d used to do- they had no place with that man. He wouldn’t ever dare defile the person most precious to him. No. He wanted only to hold his hand, to know the calluses on his palms and the widths of his fingers and the blunt ends of his filed nails.

Keefe’s hands are rougher now. He does not flinch when they are pricked with splinters. There’s a band-aid on his thumb where he’d pulled out a particularly large one. Kelvin would have run for the first-aid kit and cradled his hand between his and been soft and careful. And maybe he would have asked him ‘you alright, brother?’ or chided him for his inattention.

And maybe that would have been enough to remove the ache, the splintering pain, to sate his worsening hunger. He’s prayed until the words run thoughtlessly in his mind, an ever-present background to the saw and the lathe and the sander. Can he please just have one more moment? Can time just please turn back? Can he see Kelvin again? Just one more time? He doesn’t even need to hold his hand.

“Don’t you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you? Does this mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that his kindness is intended to turn you from your sin?” (Romans 2:4)

A new shipment of wood has come in, and when Keefe picks up the supple scrap branches and weighs beetle-kill stumps in his hands, he thinks of the splinters that must have been in Jesus’s fingers. He was a carpenter too. He must have known the sharp pang of the smallest thorn tucked unyieldingly into his palm. He must have known the bead of carmine blood that would pearl when the wood had been pulled up. He must have known Keefe’s pain- maybe not the exact same sort, but he, too, must have felt that ever-present burn in his eyes and the hiccup stuck in his throat.

Keefe selects the trunk of an oak tree, and when he lifts it he feels not the weight of Christ’s cross, but of the one he’d buckled under for Kelvin’s sake. His vision blurs and he leans the trunk against the ground, puts his head against its rough peeling bark, and shuts his wet eyes. Kelvin remains on the backs of his eyelids, on the back of his mind, or maybe in the front, in some unreachable place that can’t be shut off.

He really ought to be thinking about Judas; Judas, Jesus’s closest disciple, confidant, and friend. Judas the man Jesus had trusted to spread his word and ministry.

Judas the betrayer.

“For it is not an enemy who insults me— I could have handled that— nor is it someone who hates me and who now arises against me— I could have hidden myself from him— but it is you— a man whom I treated as my equal— my personal confidant, my close friend! We had good fellowship together; and we even walked together in the house of God!” (Psalms 55:12-14)

Judas. The reason Jesus was found and tried and crucified.

He had damaged Kelvin’s image. He’d wronged the man who saved him, the one who picked him up when he fell and stayed by his side as his crutch and never strayed far, even when the forces of fate tore them apart.

The soil of sin wraps around Keefe’s lungs. He huffs and groans as he carries the wood alone, splits down its grain with a heavy handaxe, saws the pieces with his bare, aching hands. Jesus loved the sinner. He gave second chances. He did not forgive Judas, but Judas did not repent.

Remorse bleeds down Keefe’s cracked palms as he rubs slices of sandpaper down the wood. It pours from his eyes and reflects them in pools at the plastic bottoms of his goggles. It fogs his vision, his head, his chest. It tightens his throat like a winch would a screw.

Keefe has read the bible, has studied the texts of Papias, has recited the Gospel of Nicodemus, has learned intimately of Judas’s fate. It should come to him too, but his body does not bloat, nor do his bowels give in, nor his humors burst asunder. He writhes minutely in pain, but is awarded no relief.

If only he had the power to unravel time, to split it open like the wood he breaks with his awl. He would have told Kelvin he wasn’t ready to be on his own. He would have asked him to stand by his side at ice cream and weiner night because he would have known just what to say, known the words to put things right. Kelvin had always been better with words, with people. He was Aimee-Leigh’s son, born with her caring heart and gentle voice. He had her integrity. He was a man of his word.

He nicks his thumb as he carves Kelvin’s name, and he imagines his heart must bleed similarly within him. There is no balm to be had here, no healing touch. He does not want the gauze or tape his colleagues indifferently offer.

Keefe presses his fingers bare against the meat of his wound. His blood pulses in time with his sore heart. He wipes until it grows cloying and sticky, and leaves the clot to scab or fester. Once more, he takes up his

hammer and grounds his frayed edges with the demanding work of carpentry.

Out front, the clean tires of a white Jeep roll in on the gravel.

“For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of” (2 Corinthians 7:10)

Michelle

Uncle Keefe

by Caelan

“It’s not easy being 5’8”, P. I couldn’t see a thing at the Imagine Dragons concert Keefe and I went to last week.”

“There’s no way you’re 5’8”. Gideon’s 5’8” and you’re shorter than him,” Pontius jeers. Abraham laughs beside his big brother in the back seat of the golf cart as they head toward the compound’s new beach volleyball court. They all ignore Kelvin’s little “I’m not” that he mumbles under his breath.

“I wouldn’t laugh too hard, Abe,” Gideon warns. “You could stop growin’ any day now, you know.”

“Yeah, ‘specially with those Frappuccinos you been DoorDashing to the compound. Coffee stunts your growth,” Pontius chimes in, seamlessly joining Gideon’s side as Kelvin supposes a younger brother should.

“What? DoorDash? Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to DoorDash anymore…” Kelvin interjects and trails off. Gideon smirks at Kelvin’s pinched expression.

“That’s ‘cause Keefe wouldn’t stop ordering those smoothies from Jamba Juice,” Abraham says. “Granddad said he should be getting them from the church smoothie bar instead.” Kelvin shifts in his seat and tilts his head, the entrance to the volleyball court now in his view up the road.

“Someday, Abraham, you’ll understand the decadence of a Razzmatazz.”

“Ew! Razzmatazz?! ” Pontius yells, and Kelvin sits up straight, ready to defend his and Keefe’s favorite flavor from the know-nothings his brother’s wife decided to give birth to.

He has to smile while he listens to the three of them bicker, though. When Kelvin was young, it was less playful bickering with his siblings and more ill-intentioned bullying. Or, at least, that’s how it felt. Pontius tickles the back of Gideon’s neck in the middle of Gideon’s monologue praising Strawberry Surf Rider. Gideon whips around with an open hand raised, posed to slap, and Kelvin flinches. The three boys devolve into giggles and Gideon turns back around.

Kelvin’s not quite sure why Jesse wouldn’t want to spend every waking moment around the three of them while he has the chance. Regardless, he’s determined to make the most of the “Plz entertain them. Fools are driving me loco” text Jesse sent him earlier in the day.

“I call Gideon!” Pontius declares as he jogs from the golf cart to the sand court in a self-assured way that Kelvin knows teen boys do when they’re “hyped,” but he’s happy to keep up.

“Um, no!” Kelvin calls with his hands cupped around his mouth. “You and Abe against me and Gideon.” Pontius turns around once he reaches the sand, arms stretched out in questioning as he palms the volleyball in one hand.

“But-“

“Recite Peter 2:17 and you can have your way,” Kelvin challenges.

Pontius rolls his eyes and tosses the volleyball at Kelvin, who bobbles it a little before letting it fall at his feet in the sand. Kelvin misses the middle finger from Pontius as he toes off his sneakers and socks, careful to roll up his socks and stuff them inside his shoes.

“Hey, remember what we agreed, guys,” Kelvin announces. He tries and fails to kick the ball up into

his hands with one of his feet, and grunts as he bends down to retrieve it. “Five minutes of stretching before we play.”

“Oh my God, dude!”

“Really?”

“We’re fine, let’s just play!”

Kelvin smirks at their complaints, but stands up straight as a rod when he realizes it’s the exact same smirk he spent his entire childhood wishing he could wipe off of Jesse’s face.

“Fine. Five bucks to the person who can stand on one leg the longest,” Gideon proposes. Pontius and Abraham immediately assume a flamingo position, with one leg planted firmly on the ground, the other bent back behind them in a quad stretch as they all grip their ankles.

The game is their most successful to date, with Kelvin only taking the ball square to the nose once from one of Pontius’s famous spikes. The younger nephews can’t keep up, though. Abraham’s initial fire dwindles as he consistently misses dives and runs face-first into the net.

“Ohhhh! What’s that make it now? 17 to 8?” Kelvin celebrates after Pontius bumps the ball out of bounds while attempting to return Gideon’s serve. Abraham grumbles under his breath as he kicks sand around to make their side of the court as “even” as possible.

“Whatever,” Pontius scoffs.

“When’s Uncle Keefe getting here?” Abraham asks with a bit of a whine to his voice.

“He-” Kelvin begins to respond, but he stops once Abraham’s full sentence catches up to him. Uncle Keefe? But they’re… That’s not… They’re not even engaged yet and- “Un- uh. Uncle Keefe?”

“Yeah,” Pontius nods, “We need him on our team. It’s not fair against you two.”

Gideon holds the ball against his hip and calmly watches Kelvin short-circuit. It’s perhaps one of his favorite pastimes. The way Kelvin opens and closes his mouth over and over again without producing a single word reminds Gideon of the time Martin caught the two of them stealing cookies from the church kitchen.

“Well. I will certainly see what I can do,” Kelvin finally decides to say. He pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and turns around 180 degrees. Gideon notices Kelvin subtly beckoning him closer with a single finger and throws the ball over the net to his brothers.

“What’s up?” Gideon asks, hushed, as he enters Kelvin’s personal space. Kelvin drags him even closer and Gideon can’t hold back his chuckle.

“Dijussetellemtocallimthat? ”

A pregnant pause. A bird caws loudly from the trees lining the road back toward the main part of the compound.

“Come again?”

“Did. Your father. Tell your brothers. To call him that,” Kelvin fervently whispers.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Gideon responds, scaring himself a little with how much he sounds like his own mother.

Kelvin looks Gideon in the eye and raises his eyebrows - his best I’m not fucking around face. Gideon drops the facade but keeps the subtle grin.

“Fine. No, he didn’t. To be honest, dad still calls him ‘Queef’ most of the time. He’s the only one who finds it funny.”

“That bitch!”

“Hey, Uncle Keefe?” Pontius says from the other side of the court. Kelvin whips around so fast he tweaks his lower back, and Gideon peers over his shoulder. Pontius has his cell phone pressed against his ear as Abraham juggles the volleyball with his feet beside him.

“What are you doing?!”

“You were taking too long!” Abraham calls back.

“No, there’s not an emergency. Yes, I promise. Yes, I pinky promise. Can you come to the volleyball court? Your boyfriend’s beating our asses and it’s really unfair - I honestly don’t know what you see in him. No, not literally beating our- just come over here!” Abraham giggles and loses control of the ball, sending it rolling back over to Gideon and Kelvin. Pontius ends the call and pockets his phone.

“Uncle Keefe’s so weird,” Abraham grins, “Like, funny weird.”

“Yeah, makes sense why he’s with Kelvin,” Gideon agrees and nudges Kelvin with his elbow. “Come on, let’s finish this game so we can start fresh when he gets here.”

Kelvin and Gideon win, but the score ends up being closer than they’d like. Gideon blames the setting sun hitting their eyes, but Kelvin knows it’s his own distraction. He doesn’t know the last time he wanted to see Keefe this bad. Maybe when he was in that silo with his siblings. Maybe yesterday when Keefe got out of bed for thirty seconds to use the bathroom.

Kelvin knew he was gaining something so wholly irreplaceable in his life when he kissed Keefe for the first time, but since they started dating, he hadn’t even begun to consider that his nephews would be gaining something, too.

Pontius puts on some secular music and the boys make sand angels while they wait for Keefe. Kelvin curls his toes, tries to feel every individual grain against his skin.

“Thank God!” Abraham sighs in exasperation once they hear the whir of another golf cart engine down the road.

Kelvin watches as Keefe zooms toward them at a speed just on the high end of reasonable, his hair flapping in the breeze and his various rings glinting in the sun as he grips the steering wheel. Thank God, indeed. Keefe looks determined, and seems unfazed by the three boys cheering on his approach. Kelvin’s heart swells as Keefe parks the cart and toes off his shoes right beside Kelvin’s.

“Evening, y’all. I heard my services were needed.”

A Prudent Wife is from the LORD (Proverbs 19:14)

by JD

After the whole freaky business at the reception, Tiffany is just about tuckered out. Turns out, giving birth is hard work! Especially in a toilet with no one around to help you. And then the Gemstones had all been forced out in the sea and poor nephew TJ had been shot and it was all just a huge mess! Tiffany is frankly plumb tired. The Gemstones hooked her up with a fancy hotel room, though, so she and baby Lionel and Baby Billy didn’t have to get back on a plane — or in this case, Baby Billy’s BMW he drove all the way down to Florida — right away.

She curls up next to Baby Billy now, between the cool sheets of the hotel bed. He smells like hotel shampoo and a little bit like a Port-a-Pot still, not at all like his colognes and stuff, but that’s okay. She gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“I missed you,” Tiffany says. “I was afraid that you weren’t never coming back.”

“Hey, now, don’t you start in on all that nonsense,” Baby Billy says, attempting to look stern and serious in his fluffy hotel robe with his nose all broken. “I told you, Tiff! I was going on a journey to fix my wrongs, so I could be a real father to baby Lionel!”

“I know, I know now.” Tiffany leans her head on his shoulder. The robe fabric itches her cheek. “I just wish you’d’ve let me know first, so I didn’t get all worried and think you died or stopped loving me or something.” It’s not as simple as he puts it, she knows that. Judy and TJ had put it into perspective real clearly. Her Baby was scared, and so he ran. He concocted some hairbrained scheme, and the grace of God led him to his son. She likes the way Baby Billy lights up when he talks about his journey and his new clarity, though. It’s sweet.

“How bout this, huh?” Baby Billy puts a broad hand over hers. His wedding ring gleams dully. “Ol’ Baby Billy’ll keep you in the loop, huh? That sound good, buttercup?”

“Peachy-keen, Baby.” She stretches up, sore as she is, and kisses him. He’s still her handsome old husband, with his tall shock of white hair and his shiny teeth and his sharp, hungry eyes. “And next time you got a scheme going on, like those elixir thingies, let me help out, okay?”

“Really?” Baby Billy arches his eyebrows at her. “I know you weren’t totally comfortable with that money we stole—”

“That was ‘cause I killed that man, Baby Billy,” Tiffany interrupts. “I want to help you make money, not do killings!” It’s not something she likes to think about. The money had been nice, and Baby had been so happy, and she’d liked her designer clothes and her new teeth plenty, but the blood on her hands hadn’t felt

good exactly.

“Well you are just the sweetest little sugarplum, ain’t you?” Baby Billy kisses her, and she doesn’t have to think about all that mess anymore. There’s just him, smiling and shining like the brightest star even damp and semi-contrite. Tiffany can only smile under his warm gaze and let herself be kissed. He murmurs to her, all soft and funny, “Course we can work together, darlin’. But first things first. I’ve missed you. D’you think we could have a little fun?”

“Oh!” A warm flush spreads through Tiffany’s body, despite how tired and sore she is. It’s been a while! “I think—”

And right on cue, baby Lionel starts to wail. Tiffany smiles and kisses Baby Billy again.

“Maybe after we do some parenting,” she says, and relishes the way her Baby’s jaw sets, biting back his obvious anxiety. “I love you,” she adds, pushing herself up from the bed gingerly.

“I love you too, now,” Baby Billy says, voice warm and genuine in his own way, “and don’t forget it.” And if that doesn’t just about make Tiffany glow with happiness!

Maddie

Charlie

by Limbed

The sun was only just starting to rise as they sat around a table backstage, blearily watching their chipperas-ever partners as they prepared for their 6 o’clock feature.

“These early morning interviews are brutal,” BJ said through a yawn, stretching his arms out high over his head and nearly hitting some poor stagehand rushing by.

“At least our partners all look very nice,” Keefe said, looking down at his lap where he had his hands clasped tightly together.

“They’d better,” Amber snorted. “They were in their co-ord groupchat for hours last night.”

“Their what?” Tiffany asked, looking away from the baby on her lap and up at the group. The baby made an ah sound and grabbed a handful of her hair, trying to get her attention back.

“It’s like sending a text, but instead of one recipient, there are multiple,” Keefe said as though it were sage wisdom. When no one responded, he continued, “I didn’t understand it at first either. See, it’s like a selfcontained space for–”

“No, I know what a groupchat is,” Tiffany interrupted. Keefe nodded and assumed a posture like he’d just been dismissed from his duties. “I meant the co-ord part.”

“It’s where they talk about their outfits and coordinate for stuff like this,” BJ said. “It gets real heated in there sometimes. Judy was laying next to me sending voice messages the whole time, so I only got seven hours of sleep ‘cuz of it. Really threw me off,” he said pathetically, rubbing at his puffy, dark-rimmed eyes. Amber gave a sympathetic grimace and dug into her purse, wordlessly handing him a compact mirror and a tube of concealer. BJ got to work right away.

“Why’s it take so long? They just have to match, don’t they?” Tiffany asked. Everyone around the table huffed a tight laugh.

“Oh gosh no.” Amber took a long sip of her coffee. “It’s like a war in there. Tooth and nail.”

“See, Judy wanted to wear teal, but Kelvin wanted to wear green,” BJ said, putting the products down and revealing his newly awake-looking face. “That would mean that Jesse would have to wear blue for it to look cohesive, but he wanted to wear red, so Judy would have had to wear blue, which she was okay with, but then that meant Kelvin would have to wear yellow.”

“Yellow washes him out,” Keefe said solemnly.

“Exactly. So Kelvin didn’t wanna wear yellow, but he couldn’t wear green, which meant that unless someone else changed, he’d have to wear purple so Jesse could wear red and Judy could wear blue.”

“Which he’s wearing today, right?” Tiffany said, looking back up at the TV to double-check.

“Only on the condition that next time he gets to wear green and they all have to coordinate around him instead,” Keefe said.

“What about Baby Billy?” she asked, offended on his behalf. “He don’t match them. Why didn’t he get to help pick?”

“He’s not on the couch with them,” Amber said, gesturing up at the TV with a live feed of them getting mic’d up. The siblings and their father sat together on one long couch, the gradient of their outfits along with their father’s navy suit perfectly cohesive. Another TV, broadcasting from a different angle, showed Baby Billy alone in a chair in his pastel pink ensemble straightening his lapels. “So long as he’s not in the same shot, they don’t care what he wears.”

“That ain’t fair,” Tiffany said softly, looking down in dismay.

“What ain’t fair is that we don’t even get to be part of it,” Amber huffed, leaning back and crossing her arms. “It’s supposed to be the family special, yet they’re cutting out half the family.”

“We get to do a print interview, don’t we?” BJ asked. “In Southern Dove Devotional Bi-monthly? ”

“Tri-monthly,” Keefe corrected.

“What’s tri-monthly mean?” Tiffany asked, tilting her head.

“Every three months,” BJ said matter-of-factly, but then hesitated. “Or is it three times a month?”

“Three times a month seems like a lot,” Keefe said.

“But every three months doesn’t seem like enough,” Tiffany said. BJ looked down at his hands and started counting on his fingers, trying to decipher it.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Amber butted in. “They only sell ‘em at Christian bookstores and the Circle K by the church. No one’s gonna see it.”

“That’s a relief,” Keefe said. “I’ve never been interviewed before. I was worried a whole bunch of people were gonna see it if I messed up.”

“You’re not gonna mess up anymore than the people running the magazine, that’s for sure,” Amber said under breath, running a hand through her hair. “Do you have your notes from PR?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling the packet out from inside his coat. “I have memorized it front to back.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Amber said, giving him a genuinely kind and reassuring smile.

“And all of us’ll be there,” Tiffany joined in. “We’ll help you out if you get stuck.”

“Yeah, we’re old pros,” said BJ, even though among them Amber was the only one with much experience. “We got your back.”

“Really?” Keefe asked, wide-eyed and misty.

“Sure,” Amber shrugged. “You’re family now too. We stick together.”

Before he could give his tearful thanks, baby Aimee-Leigh silenced them all with a sharp cry, bouncing in place unhappily and making grabby gestures at her mother.

“Aww, poor baby. Not used to being up this early, are you, honey?” Tiffany cooed. “She probably wants somethin’ to eat. Here,” she said, lifting her up and holding her out to Keefe, “Can you take her while I grab a snack?”

“Oh, I don’t know how to–” he started, but the baby was already in his lap, gurgling and looking back at her mom sadly. He put his hands under her arms and stiffly held her steady as Tiffany dug through the massive diaper bag shoved under the table. With a pained expression, he looked around the table for reassurance. “Is this– like this? Do I do it like this?”

“Have you never held a baby before?” Amber asked incredulously.

“That depends,” Keefe said, relaxing a bit but still keeping the little one at a distance. “What age counts as a baby?”

“Under two, maybe?” she said, smiling and reaching out to take her little hand.

“Oh,” he said softly. “No, he was 37.”

“Right,” Amber said, smile suddenly strained as the joy was extinguished from her eyes.

The baby grinned and vocalized, exposing her mostly-toothless gums, and stared up at Keefe as he readjusted his hold on her. He smiled back nervously, pulling her closer. She stretched out her hand and grabbed a handful of his necklaces, closing her tiny fist around them and jingling them around. Tiffany sat up at last, ointment at hand, and grinned at the sight of her manhandling Keefe’s jewelry.

“Awww,” she cooed, “She likes you.”

“She does?” he asked, voice wavering. As if in reply, the baby attempted to put a dangling cross in her mouth, which Keefe promptly wrestled from her little hand and tossed behind his neck. She laughed the whole time.

“‘Course she does! She wouldn’t be grabbing at you like that otherwise,” Tiffany said. “She trusts you.”

“Oh,” Keefe whispered, looking at her very seriously. He leaned in close to her ear and said softly, “I vow that I will never betray your trust, tiny baby. I will be your sword and shield, and I swear on all that is good in this world to protect you with my life.”

She smiled, reached up, and tried to yank the earring out of his ear. He hissed in pain and pulled away, but bowed his head when he looked back at her as if he understood and found her course of action perfectly reasonable. Tiffany laughed and opened her arms, making grabby hands at her. Keefe handed the baby back with a final nod and she immediately dug into the bag of Cheerios Tiffany handed to her, gurgling happily.

The “quiet on set” announcement went up as the clock ticked down. They all turned to look at the TV, the audio coming through as everyone went silent. The countdown sounded as the Gemstones shifted in their seats, doing their final preening until they were live. When the countdown ended, they all flashed their brightest smiles at the camera, and the WAGs smiled back.