EMMA
Grace looked so happy sitting in my classroom, her pen tapping lightly on the edge of her notebook as if she had been waiting all day to be here.
It wasn’t every day you had a guest at the back of a class, but she had quietly slipped in at the start and promised to stay out of the way.
Given her enthusiasm, I didn’t believe that for a second.
The students and I had been discussing symbolism in Jane Eyre, and we kept coming back to the infamous Red Room.
We had taken apart its scary, claustrophobic quality, its feeling of punishment and suppression, and now I wanted them to go further and think about the broader patterns that Charlotte Bronte used throughout the book.
“Okay,” I said, sitting on the edge of my desk.
“We’ve figured out that the Red Room is a place of fear, shame, and control.
But what about the things that Bronte keeps coming back to?
Fire and ice. Let’s get into that. Can anyone give an example of when those are more than just background imagery? ”
A few students started to go through their notes. Grace’s hand shot up in the air with complete confidence before anyone else could even look up.
“Yes, Grace?” I said, smiling.
She leaned forward with excitement. “The fire in Rochester’s bedroom,” she said, her voice full of confidence.
“It’s not just danger; it’s passion. Jane saving him is about more than just keeping him from burning to death.
It’s her first act of power in the relationship.
When his passion threatens to kill him, she literally puts it out. ”
I blinked at her, surprised for a moment by how sharp her reading was. “That’s… a very good point,” I said, my voice getting warmer. “Thanks, Grace.”
Before I could expand on it, another student, Theresa, raised her hand. “And it ties into when Jane describes her own feelings as a fire she has to master,” she said. “She knows that if she lets herself burn too brightly, she will lose control. So fire isn’t just passion; it’s also danger for her.”
A soft murmur of agreement went around. Then David, who usually kept his thoughts to himself, surprised me by saying, “And the ice, then – that’s St John Rivers.” He’s all control and no heat. He tries to put out Jane’s fire completely. To make her life ‘frozen’ and ‘rigid’.”
“Yes!” I said. “That conflict between fire and ice shapes Jane’s decisions. Desire versus control. Desire versus duty.”
As they talked, I let myself lean back a little, listening rather than directing.
The best part of teaching was when the students stopped looking to me for answers and started bouncing ideas off each other, as if the text had opened up and they couldn’t help but dive in.
And to have Grace right there with them, her face lit up and her voice clear, adding to the conversation without hesitation – it made me feel strangely proud, even though she wasn’t my student in any official sense.
Her promise to stay quiet had lasted all of ten minutes, but I didn’t mind.
She liked stories. She read them with all of her heart, and it showed.
I could see the other students looking at her, not with annoyance but with understanding.
She was just as much a part of the conversation as they were.
Grace’s hand went up again, and I laughed softly and let her speak.
“Okay, Grace,” I said, nodding to her.
She leaned forward, ready to say whatever thought had just struck her. I eased back against the desk again and smiled as the class looked at her.
* * *
“That was so much fun,” Grace said, practically squealing as we left the classroom. She hugged her cardigan tighter around her, her cheeks still flushed from the excitement. “You’re so lucky! You get to sit with students, read the classics again, and talk about them for hours.”
I laughed. “You know, your job is also pretty great; you are surrounded by books all day and get to read new ones before anyone else has had the chance to form opinions about them. You are like a gatekeeper to treasure.”
Her smile was quick and proud. “Okay, that’s true. I have nothing to complain about.”
We stepped inside the teacher’s lounge, just as Simon’s voice, warm and theatrical, called out, “Ah! The beautiful Grace.”
He was sitting by the counter with a cup of coffee, and it looked like he had been waiting for us. “How’s the family?”
When Grace talked about them, her face always lit up. “Aidan is doing well, as usual. Lucas is no longer interested in dinosaurs; he is now obsessed with reptiles. For his birthday, he has been begging for a pet snake.”
Simon’s eyes widened in mock horror.
“Which, no way in hell,” Grace said quickly, laughing. “But he’s persistent. He keeps leaving snake books all over the living room, like he’s trying to subliminally convince us.”
I smiled. “A bold strategy.”
“And Lucy,” Grace went on, shaking her head fondly, “has found a new calling. Besides reading and writing stories, she’s decided she also wants to be in them. She wants to be an actress. But only fantasy films, because apparently everything else is ‘too boring’.”
Simon barked out a laugh. “I can see that. She’d probably look down on an audition for a Shakespeare play.”
“You should have seen how serious she was when she told us. It was so adorable.”
Simon finished the last of his coffee and looked at his watch. “Okay, girls, I have a class in five minutes, so I’ll let you talk. Try not to plot anything too wicked without me.” He winked and left the lounge.
Grace and I made a beeline for the comfiest couch in the far corner, away from the hum of the vending machine. I wrapped my hands around a cup of tea, enjoying the steam curling around my face. She drank coffee and tapped her nails on the ceramic.
She settled back with a sigh. “How’s the writing going?”
“Really good,” I admitted, surprised at how honest I sounded. “I’ve got the main scenes mapped out, the timeline is solid, and I know how it ends. Now all that’s left to do is polish it up by putting the details together.”
Her smile widened. “I can’t wait to read it.” Then, as if the thought had been waiting on her tongue, she asked, “Would you be up for another book reading at the library when it’s out? Last time we got such great feedback. People who couldn’t come keep asking if you’ll do it again.”
“Yes, of course,” I said right away. “Although…” I hesitated, stirring my tea slowly. “I don’t know if I’ll still be in Toronto when the book comes out. But I’d definitely come back for it.”
“So, you’re still planning on leaving?”
“I don’t know how to answer that for the first time. It’s usually easy: I finish a project, pack up my things, and move on. But this time… I’ll see how I feel in a few weeks when the book’s done and term is over.”
Grace nodded, quiet for a moment. Then she said in a soft voice, “He’s really going to miss you.”
“I know.”
“Thank you for what you’ve done for him,” she added.
I frowned, unsure what she meant.
She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “He said you talked to him about our mom. That’s the first time he’s talked to anyone but me about it. Ever. You being there for him means a lot.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent, listening.
“When Max learnt that my dad wasn’t his dad… In a way, I think it was a relief. At least it made sense of how he was treated. My dad,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s hard to say this about your own father, but he was a bad man. The way he treated Max and Mom…” Her voice broke.
Then she collected herself and steadied her coffee cup in her hands.
“As his older sister, I always thought I should have done more to keep him safe. But the truth is, I was scared. I didn’t want to lose my family, broken as it was.
I had some growing up to do myself. But from the moment we walked in on that fight between Mom and Dad, I knew. I would always choose Max’s side.”
Her jaw worked, like she was holding something back.
“I wasn’t brave enough when we were young.
But I was after that. He got his scholarship, he moved out, and he never spoke to our dad again.
I didn’t either. I kept some contact with Mom, and Max knew that – he was okay with it – but he never wanted to talk to her himself.
Not until now… And that’s because of you.
Even if it ends badly, I think it’ll still be good for him.
I think that’s why he chose to play defence.
He’s been defending himself his whole life.
With you, it feels like the first time he doesn’t have to. ”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was tight. Not knowing what to say, I set my tea aside and leaned over, pulling her into a hug. She held on, and when she let go, her smile was a little watery. Mine was as well.
“Max is right,” she said with a small laugh. “You do give good hugs.”
I raised my eyebrows. “He told you about that as well?”
“Yes. You’re all he talks about these days.” Her expression turned earnest. “You make him happy. And I believe he makes you happy too.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I nodded. “Yes. He does.”
Her gaze searched mine. “But not enough to keep you in Toronto?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, not sure what to say. Somehow, we had come back to the one question that had been bothering me for weeks. What was I going to do when the term was over: leave as I always had, or was it time for something different?
I didn’t have an answer yet.