A Crisis

This is post 6 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

After obtaining full flight information, Gwen said goodbye, tottered unhesitatingly to Bennett’s sanctum, and threw open his door.
“Ed. Rouse yourself. We have a crisis on our hands.”
He looked up from the Times acrostic. “We?” He was used to Gwen’s life being a series of crises, but he was generally able to avoid active participation in them.
“Your daughter, egged on by God only knows what treatise on her inner child, has left Gregory.”
He peered at her blankly, glasses slipping down his nose.
“And the university,” Gwen continued.
This seemed a more serious matter. “Did she get into a better place?” he asked hopefully.
“As near as I can tell, she is going to be living in a trailer with a right-wing fundamentalist named Jeff while we raise Liz. Oh God, Ed. You don’t think she’s found Jesus or something like that, do you?”
Bennett placed the crossword and pen deliberately on the little table and stared in puzzlement at the picture of his daughter that had heretofore given him so much satisfaction. Echoes of a horrific dinner party at his friend Grout’s with the born-again son flitted through his head. A younger Gwen, standing in the same spot and explaining that their son was gay, not as in happy, also appeared briefly.
“Oh Lord,” he said.
“Of course, we must take care of Elizabeth for her.”
“We must?”
Gwen rolled her eyes at his obtuseness. “Of course, Ed, under the circumstances. But, what I was wondering. . . . Do you think we could get Chloe to stay here with us, too? Maybe this is just a—rebound thing. Maybe if we really laid ourselves out she’d reconsider the—” Gwen shuddered—“the trailer.”

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