Room 4

Frank Doucette was always the first to arrive.

At six fifty-five on the first Tuesday of September, he unlocked Room 4 of the Riverbend Community Centre, turned on the lights, and opened the window, because Room 4 always smelled of floor wax and old coffee. He put six chairs in a half circle. He put a box of tissues on the table, because in his experience somebody always cried in the first month. Then he sat down, took out his red pen, and waited.

He was sixty-two. He had taught English in a high school for thirty-one years, and when he retired, he had lasted exactly four months at home before his wife told him to find something to do. "Something outside the house," she had said. "Far outside." So for six years now, every Tuesday from seven to nine, he had taught a free class for people preparing for the CELPIP test.

The sign on the door said: CELPIP PREP — FREE — ALL WELCOME. Somebody had drawn a small smiling sun next to it. Frank suspected Dolores, the caretaker.

At seven o'clock exactly, the door opened.