My grandfather died when I was 17, but I remember that day vividly. I had just gotten home from school when my mother sat me and my two sisters down, which was rare given that she worked night shifts and hardly had time to meet up with us after school. I suspected something was awry when she took a big breath before revealing the news. My grandfather died at the age of 82. He did not suffer, thank god, and he was relatively active for his age.

He had always been a fan of old automobiles and would frequently take me to car exhibitions, which fueled my interest in anything with an engine. My grandfather had such an impact on my life that he inspired me to become an engineer. Even though Grandpa couldn’t afford to acquire a whole collection of vintage cars like many of his friends who attended car events, he did have one vehicle that he spent every weekend cleaning and correcting minute elements on.

Every weekend, my mother would drop me off so I could help him and bond with my grandfather. I always assumed Mom just wanted us to be near, but it appears it was more convenient for her that way. Nonetheless, my weekends with Grandpa provided some of my best memories. It was always a lot of fun, whether I knocked over the oil container or Grandpa accidently marred the red paint job on the Chevy Bel Air.

We never ran out of things to do. I especially enjoyed assisting Grandpa because he would fill the ashtray with candy; Grandpa never smoked and advised me to stick to candy instead. Every weekend, I’d get in the car, open the covered ashtray, and grab a handful of candy. Then, after finishing my snacks in a few rapid gulps, we’d get down to work. My sisters would laugh when my grandfather requested them for assistance. Instead, they wanted to spend time with my two cousins. We were never close. But I did not mind. I enjoyed spending time with Grandpa.

Anyway, when I learned that Grandpa had passed away, I was devastated. Even as a teenager, he was my best friend. I recall running up to my room, where I spent the remainder of the evening. The next morning, I strolled down to the kitchen still in my jammies — I wasn’t going to school the day after my grandfather died — and everyone gave me the cold shoulder.

I assumed they were unhappy with me for leaving so abruptly, so I apologized to my sisters, but they only snorted and went away. Feeling despondent and alienated, I went to my mother to find out what was happening. “Honey, you have to understand that it’s normal for your sisters to be jealous. If you hadn’t stormed out, you would have learned that your grandfather left you the Chevy.I looked at her with incredulity. Grandpa’s Chevrolet? He wouldn’t allow anyone else have it. That was his. It could not be mine. I couldn’t even drive properly at that point.

“Now, don’t seem so eager. You’re acting like an actual vulture. “I’ve decided that you will not inherit it.” Even more of a shock. This day was already becoming too much for me, and I hadn’t even eaten breakfast. “You cannot drive yet, my dear. If you had taken your test last year as I had instructed, I would have let you keep the car. Okay, maybe. My point is that I’ve chosen to sell the car and divide the proceeds amongst you, your sisters, and your cousins. It is only fair.I was fuming. My grandfather had worked so hard on that car, and now my mother was planning to sell it to the highest bidder.

The blatant disrespect made my blood boil. Needless to say, I spent the remainder of the day locked up in my room, attempting to sort through the emotions that were raging inside me. My mother refused to budge no matter how much I pleaded in the following week. She believed the car had already been sold. Eventually, a buyer arrived and offered my mother $70000 for the automobile, and I watched him drive away, nearly hearing my grandfather groan with sorrow. That’s when I vowed I’d get the automobile back, no matter what.

My relationship with my mother became fragile after that. My sisters were always envious because Grandpa left me with a car while they only received $4000. But it made sense. I spent every weekend with Grandpa, while they loafed around, refusing to even hand him a wrench when he asked for one. Nonetheless, I went out, obtained my license, and began working part-time to make my own money.I saved a lot of money, went to college, and used my passion for machinery to propel me toward my goal of becoming an engineer.

Graduating at the top of my class helped me obtain a prominent position at a high-end engineering firm, and at the age of 27, I finally had the opportunity to fulfill the promise I had made ten years ago. I was going to get my grandfather’s Chevrolet back.I tracked down the individual who had bought the car and called him. He was a wonderful person. He shared Grandpa’s enthusiasm for old automobiles. We talked for a bit, and despite his reluctance to sell the Chevy, he said I may come by and look at it.

So I took a road trip to the place where I grew up, and before long, I was admiring the curves of Grandpa’s beloved car again.It felt like a dream. The color remained the same, the trim was still in excellent condition, and the entire piece appeared to be brand new. Michael, the owner, had never actually driven the car. Instead, he amassed a collection of old cars and occasionally displayed them. Except for my grandfather and me, it seemed that only three individuals had ever gotten into the car.

I was pleased to hear this, and when Mike noticed me staring at the car as if it were an old friend, he buckled and handed me the keys for $80000. It was expensive, but it was worthwhile. I got in the car and went home with a big smile on my face. I would get my second automobile later. But the Chevy was not all I received out of the bargain.On my walk home, I looked down and saw the ashtray’s closed lid. Smiling slightly, I opened it for nostalgia’s sake, only to look inside. It was vacant, as I expected.

But, beneath the ashtray’s replaceable innards, I noticed a white piece of what appeared to be paper sticking out. I plucked at it, but it was stuck. Eventually, I arrived at a petrol station, parked, and thoroughly inspected the ashtrays. I lifted the plastic dish used to catch ash, and beneath it was an old envelope with my name scrawled on it. I was amazed. It was Grandpa’s handwriting, and the envelope was slightly yellowed with age. It was fairly hefty and bumpy. I took it out carefully and tore it at the top. A note appeared, which read: Graham,

I hope you like this car as much as I did. I taught you how to care for it, so I expect you to keep it gleaming. Your sisters and mother are probably upset with you by now, but that doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I consider family. You see, your grandmother always had someone by her side. She assumed I was unaware of the situation, but I simply remained silent. Better not to rock the boat, eh?

Your mother is the result of the union. I’ve known this from the beginning. I do not have a single legitimate child. But that doesn’t matter because you’ve been like a son to me. That is why I am leaving you with the Chevy and little else. Everyone is aware of their biological grandfather. They kept you out since we were so close, and you are the youngest. But you should know that I adore you no matter what.

Enjoy the ride. Grandpa.I won’t acknowledge it easy, but I shed tears. It was very touching. I drove the rest of the way home with a big smile. Despite the surprising revelation, I knew Grandpa loved me, and now I had the Chevy back with its rightful owner. I was so thrilled that I forgot about the envelope. I took it from the ashtray just as I arrived home a few minutes ago.

I felt something rattling around within, and when I looked, I noticed a massive gem winking at me. In wonder, I turned the envelope over, and on the back was scrawled, “I had no doubt that you would find the candy.”