Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Seven
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Trigger warning: The following story contains topics that may disturb some readers, including child physical and sexual abuse, domestic abuse, substance abuse, violence, and suicide. Although there is no explicit sexuality or language, this is written for an adult audience and may not be suitable for children.
Chapter Seven
A week passed, and life continued as usual for Beth. She walked to school daily with Lisa and spent most of her time in class feeling bored; she excelled and completed her assignments before the other students. Afterward, she went home, cleaned, cared for Otto, and did her best to stay in the good graces of Virgie and Gary. No help from outside came for her, and she lost hope that it ever would. It was her fate in life. She would either learn to live with it and press on or find her own way out.
One troubling aspect for her was physical: every time she urinated, a terrible pain pierced through her, far beyond mere stinging. Did it relate to the treatment she received from Gary? She waited until the pain became nearly unbearable and noticed a strange vaginal discharge in her underwear before mentioning it to her mother.
Virgie called Dr. Nader at the Coverville Medical Clinic to make an appointment for Beth. He had been their family doctor and had cared for Beth since they moved to Coverville years earlier. Missing the last class of the school day on a Friday—which was no sacrifice—her mother picked her up from elementary school and took her to the clinic.
With a nurse and Virgie present, Dr. Nader examined Beth’s privates—referred to as her vulva—for the first time, though he noted it wasn’t a complete pelvic examination. She lay on the bench, staring at the ceiling, embarrassed by the procedure. The doctor took a swab from the entrance to her vagina for the lab and sent Beth and her mother next door to the local laboratory to provide blood and urine samples. His only comment before Virgie drove Beth home was his suspicion that it was a urinary tract infection, indicating it was not much to worry about. He gave Virgie a prescription for Cipro and sent them on their way.
Due to the pain, Beth spent extra time in the washroom at school during recess on Monday.
“Hurry up, Beth or Miss Denke will be in here to kick us out,” Lisa said from the other side of the toilet booth door.
Beth gritted her teeth as urine trickled out of her. “I’m coming. Go outside; I’ll meet you out there.”
Her friend agreed it was a good idea and left. Five minutes later, Beth joined her as Lisa and three other girls played jump rope, but Beth didn’t participate.
“What’s wrong?” Lisa whispered. Beth leaned closer and whispered her answer in Lisa’s ear.
“Did the doctor think it was because of Gary?”
Beth shook her head. “He said it’s a UTI. Something to do with the tube from my bladder out of my body.”
“He didn’t notice anything else?”
“Never said a thing.”
The next day, Beth returned home from school to find Virgie waiting for her in the kitchen once more. She was certain that she had committed another infraction and was about to face punishment.
Instead, Virgie tossed her a new prescription bottle. “The doctor said it’s a different infection. Take these instead.”
Beth was an excellent reader, but she had never heard of azithromycin before. “Is it an antibiotic?”
“Yes,” Virgie snapped, “and it’s more expensive than Amoxil or Cipro, so don’t waste any of it. And don’t you dare tell anyone that you’re taking that stuff, you hear me? You know how the Gossips around this town like to talk.”
Beth couldn’t understand why the Gossips were interested in her UTI, but she assured her mother that she would keep it a secret.
She broke it later that same day when she went to the Jones’ house after Virgie left for work. Mrs. Jones had invited her and Otto over for dinner again. Gary wouldn’t like not having dinner ready when he came home, but Beth didn’t care. He hadn’t punished her more severely for that yet.
“So, what do you have?” Lisa asked her in front of everyone at the dinner table.
Beth glared at her, but Mrs. Jones was curious.
“Are you sick?” her best friend’s mother asked, her eyelids fluttering and the corners of her mouth curling downward.
“I just have a UTI,” Beth said quickly, stuffing a forkful of meatloaf into her mouth to avoid saying anything more.
Mrs. Jones exchanged a glance with Mr. Jones that Beth couldn’t interpret before asking, “Are you taking penicillin for that?”
“It’s called a-zi-thro-my-cin,” Lisa blabbed, sounding out each syllable to pronounce it correctly. “Whatever that is.”
“It’s a type of antibiotic,” Mr. Jones said. “At least it’s being taken care of. “ He changed the subject, saying, “So it’s track and field season at school, isn’t it?”
Beth glanced up at him and smiled in thanks. He gave her a quick wink. Sometimes, his daughter was a blabbermouth, completely unaware of what was appropriate to discuss and when. Once again, Beth found herself wishing she were a member of the Jones family, that Frank and Marg were her parents, and that she didn’t have to return to her house before dark.
After dinner, they played board games before Beth and Otto returned to the Clark house for bed. At two-thirty, Gary came to Beth’s door. She awoke immediately and steeled herself for another visit, but instead, he glared at her and hissed in a stage whisper, “You dirty little monster. You made me sick. Now, I gotta take medication, too. Just wait until it’s all cleared up. You’ll pay for infecting me.”
He left. Beth lay in her bed, trembling. What did he mean? She made him sick, too? Did she give him her UTI during his visits? If so, he deserved what he got. Of course, she could never say that. And now she had to live in horrified anticipation of whatever new form of torture he’d devise to use against her once they were both healed.
#
As soon as Beth and Otto returned home for the night, Marg Jones went to the family set of Encyclopedia Britannica and found the index volume to look up azithromycin. She spent the next hour at the dining room table researching amoxicillin and azithromycin, focusing on the different infections each drug was used to treat. When Frank came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she looked up with a pained expression.
“Frank, I don’t think Beth has a UTI if she’s taking azithromycin.”
He remained impassive, sitting next to her. She looked up an article and passed it to him to read. He skimmed the passage, clucking his tongue several times before exhaling through his nose.
“Chlamydia?”
Marg nodded. “I think so. There’s only one way Beth contracted that and just one person she got it from. It makes me so angry; I want to tear these encyclopedias in half.”
Frank wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “At least Virgie is getting her treated.”
“It won’t do any good if Gary doesn’t get treated, too,” Marg fretted. “If Virgie doesn’t bother telling him, he might not even have symptoms or know he’s sick. Someone needs to talk to her and get her to speak to Gary.”
“I’m sure the doctor told her,” Frank said, pressing his lips into a grim line. “And if the doctor knows Beth has Chlamydia, he also knows she’s sexually active. At twelve, that has to raise alarm bells for him.”
“Maybe, but remember what happened to Aurora?” Marg asked, lowering her voice so the children in the other room wouldn’t overhear. “The doctor knew she was assaulted and didn’t report it because he didn’t want to take a lucrative day away from his practice to testify in court. The entire system is corrupt. I’m going over there tomorrow before Virgie goes to work, and I’ll talk to her about ensuring Gary gets treated.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Somebody must, for Beth’s sake. Chlamydia can leave her infertile or with chronic pelvic inflammation. That girl has it tough enough. Frank, we need to do something to get those kids out of there.”
He kissed Marg’s temple. “We will. You’ll ensure that happens.”
“Darn tootin’.”
Marg left school early the next afternoon to ensure she arrived at the Clark house before Virgie departed for her shift at the hotel restaurant. Beth’s mother was surprised and slightly nervous at Marg’s presence, but she maintained a deadpan expression, standing in the doorway to block the entrance and preventing Marg from inviting herself in.
“What can I do for you?” Virgie asked, taking a long puff from her cigarette and blowing the smoke into Marg’s face.
Marg pretended she didn’t notice, resisting the urge to cough. “Can I come inside? I have something to discuss with you that should remain private. I don’t think you’ll want the neighbors overhearing what I say.”
Virgie scrunched her face, seemingly conceding that Marg might have a point, and stepped aside to let her neighbor into the back entryway.
“What’s this about, Mrs. Jones? More accusations?”
Lifting her chin, Marg shook her head. “No accusations. Just a couple of warnings between friends. I know about Beth’s STD—yes, I said STD, not UTI. I know about her case of Chlamydia. Azithromycin isn’t used to treat UTIs but is for venereal disease. And we both know how she got it, don’t we?”
Virgie’s eyes blazed with anger. She took another quick drag of her cigarette. “Do we?”
“Oh, yeah,” Marg assured her with a nod. “And if the person who gave it to her isn’t treated, he’ll give it to her again. It’ll cause permanent damage to Beth. I won’t stand for that.”
“Really?”
“Really. So, get him treated,” Marg said as she turned to leave.
“You said you had a couple of warnings,” Virgie reminded her through gritted teeth.
Marg stopped, removed her hand from the doorknob, and turned to face Virgie again. “That’s right. Here’s the second: I’m going to Social Services with what I know. There’s now a record of Beth receiving azithromycin, Virgie. Even if you convinced her doctor to hide it from her medical records, Mr. Landry at the pharmacy has more moral fiber than that. I’ll inform the authorities that a twelve-year-old is being treated for an STD that her uncle gave her. Make it stop if you don’t want to lose your kids.”
Virgie narrowed her eyes. “You think you know so much, don’t you?”
Marg swallowed hard. “I don’t know half of it, which keeps me awake at night. My God, Virgie! She’s your daughter.”
“That’s right.” Virgie stepped forward and stared Marg in the eyes. “She’s my daughter. Don’t forget it. No one is taking my kids from me. You’d better keep your nose out of my business if you know what’s good for you. Get out of my house.”
Marg surveyed the clutter and filth, her heart aching for the children forced to live there. “Gladly. Get it together, Virgie.”
She left the house and hurried back to her home down the street, not feeling safe again until she was inside. Lisa and Aurora stood at the door, waiting for her.
“How did it go?” Lisa asked.
Marg pretended to be oblivious as she walked past the girls and made her way to the living room. “How did what go?”
“Your talk with Virgie,” her daughter said, rolling her eyes. “We know you went over there to tell her off.”
Marg sat in an armchair. “Why would I do that?”
“You know as well as we do that Beth is sicker than she has told us,” Aurora replied. “We all know she and Otto are in trouble over there, and you care too much to just stand by and do nothing.”
Marg smiled at her two girls. “Just keep me updated on what happens with Beth and Otto, and let Dad and me handle it, okay?”
They agreed.
“Now go do your homework,” Marg told them. “It’s pizza night.”
They hugged her before heading to their bedrooms. With a sigh, Marg got up from her chair and walked to the telephone in the kitchen. The number she dialed had become all too familiar. Did the caseworkers review any of the reports she submitted to Social Services? Nothing changed to help protect the Clark children. That wouldn’t stop her from making reports, but it became clear to Marg that she might need to take further steps and go above the workers fielding the calls. She had to speak with a caseworker before they would take action. If that’s what it took, she was more than willing. No veiled threat from Virgie Clark would deter her from acting to protect those children.
#
Beth had no idea what she had done to deserve the beating Virgie had given her before she left for work. She lounged on her bed, doing her Language Arts homework when Virgie opened her door with a bang, holding the ‘spanking board’ in her hand. It was a wooden paddle about a foot long and six inches wide, with a handle for easy wielding. Hand-painted on the paddle were the images of a fawn running away from a grizzly bear and a caption that read, “For the sweet little dear with the bare behind.”
The girl despised that paddle. She had hidden it once, and the following beating was twice as severe as usual when Virgie discovered it buried in the flower bed.
“M-mommy, what—?”
She didn’t get to finish her question before Virgie lunged at her, raising the paddle over her head and bringing it down hard and fast across Beth’s shoulder blades. The twelve-year-old cried out from the pain and curled herself into a ball, protecting her vital organs, as her mother pounded her for thirty seconds with the piece of hardwood. Beth sobbed silently. The beating continued longer and was more intense if Virgie heard crying; she hated it when her children cried during their punishment.
Once she had vented her wrath, Virgie stood over Beth with the paddle held at her side, and the woman panted from her exertion. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you, you little—.” Virgie completed her sentence with a vile epithet that Gary often used for Beth. “Don’t blame me when you end up in some foster home with strangers who treat you like garbage.”
She shuffled out of Beth’s room and changed into her work clothes.
Beth waited until Virgie’s car drove away before she uncoiled and sobbed into her pillow. A hand rested on her back with a feather-light touch, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Otto.
“What?” She wiped her tears with the comforter.
He remained silent but extended his other hand toward her to reveal two MoJos.
Beth took them from him. “Thanks, Otto.”
He nodded and left her before heading back to the living room to watch TV.
Rolling off her bed, Beth went to the bathroom to inspect her new injuries—welts and a cut on her neck—in the mirror. Virgie had been more precise with her swings this time, hitting Beth’s back where her shirt concealed her. She hid the marks and bruises, but movement was painful and challenging for the next few days.
The worst part was that Beth had no idea what she had done to deserve the beating. The randomness pained her heart the most.
At this point, both to promote my novel and get feedback, I’m sharing the first chapter of From Sackcloth and Ashes on my blog as it currently stands. I’m asking you to read it and give me your constructive critique….