When my grandfather died, I was seventeen, but I can still clearly recall that day. Considering that my mother worked night shifts back then and hardly had any time to catch up with us after school, it was rare that she sat my two sisters and I down after school. She inhaled deeply and I sensed something was amiss before she broke the news.

82 years old was when my grandfather passed away. Thank heavens, he was painless and, for his age, had been active. His passion for old cars and his frequent trips to auto events was where my passion for anything with an engine began. My grandfather had such a big impact on my life that his influence in my childhood led me to become an engineer.

Grandpa had one old car that he spent every weekend cleaning and making little adjustments to, but he couldn’t afford to acquire a whole collection like many of his friends who also went to the car events. And my mother would send me off every weekend so I could support him and strengthen my relationship with my grandfather. Though I always assumed Mom just wanted us to be close, it appears that way was more convenient for her.

Still, some of my best recollections are from my weekends with my grandfather. It was all great fun and we never ran out of things to do, whether it was the time I knocked over the oil container or the time Grandpa unintentionally marred the red paint job on the Chevy Bel Air. Because Grandpa never smoked and advised me to stick to confectionery, I really enjoyed helping him fill the ashtray with sweets.

I used to get into the car every weekend, open the covered ashtray, and take out a few sweets. My goodies consumed in a few swift gulps, we would then go right to work. My sisters used to laugh when my grandfather requested them for assistance. They would much sooner hang out with my two cousins. Never were we near. Still, I was okay. I cherished our time together.

All the same, I was devastated to learn of Grandpa’s death. He remained my closest friend all through my teenage years. I can still see myself rushing up to my room, where I stayed the remainder of the evening. I wasn’t going to school the day my grandfather passed away, so the next morning I went down to the kitchen still in my pyjamas and everyone was giving me the cold shoulder.

When I apologized to my sisters, thinking they were upset with me for leaving so quickly, they merely laughed and turned to go. Depressed and now feeling really alone, I went to my mother to find out what was wrong.

Your sisters should only be a little envious, honey. Had you not bolted, you would have learned that your grandfather had bequeathed you the Chevy.

Looked at her incredulously. That Chevy from Grandpa? Never would he allow it to go to anybody else. His it was. It was not to be mine. By then I was hardly able to drive.

Look less thrilled now. You are behaving exactly like a vulture. I have decided that you will not inherit it.

Still another surprise. This was becoming to be too much, and I hadn’t yet finished breakfast.

My sweetheart, you are not yet able to drive. I would have let you keep the car if you had taken your exam last year as I had advised. All OK, maybe. My argument is that I’ve made the decision to part with the car and give you, your sisters, and your cousins the proceeds. Just fairness demands it.

That was me raging. After all of my grandpa’s labor, my mom was ready to pawn that car off to the highest offer. It boiled my blood, the total disdain. I was, of course, cooped up in my room the remainder of the day, attempting to sort out the inner turmoil.

My mother would not budge no matter how much I begged her the next week. To her mind, the car had already been sold. When a buyer eventually showed up and made my mom an offer of $70000 for the automobile, I saw him drive it away and could almost hear my grandfather moaning with despair. That was the instant I resolved to get the car back, no matter what.

My connection with my mother was, to put it mildly, erratic after that. Grandpa left me a car while they each received $4000, so my sisters always seemed to be a little resentful. Still, it seemed reasonable. They merely lounged about, not even offering him a wrench when he asked for one, while I spent every weekend with Grandpa. Still, I left, obtained my license, and began working part-time to support myself.

I saved up a fair sum, attended college, and used my passion of machines to motivate me to become an engineer. Top of my class graduation helped me get a coveted job at an upscale engineering firm, and at 27 years old, I finally had the chance to keep the promise I had made ten years earlier. I was going to retrieve the Chevy for my grandfather.

I called up the individual who had purchased the car after tracking him out. His manner was kind. Like Grandpa, he loved old cars. I could come by and have a look at the Chevy, he added, even if he was hesitant to sell it. I took a road trip back to my hometown and soon I was admiring the curves of Grandpa’s beloved automobile once more.

It was surreal in feel. The trim was in excellent shape, the color was identical, and everything appeared to be brand new. Michael the owner had hardly ever driven the vehicle. Rather, he gathered several antique cars and occasionally displayed them. It turns out that, save my grandfather and me, just three individuals had ever stepped inside the car.

This thrilled me, and Mike blinked and gave me the keys for $80000 when he noticed me staring at the car like an old friend. Though expensive, it was worthwhile. I climbed into the car and, grinning broadly, drove it home. I would later pick up my other automobile. But the deal yielded more to me than just the Chevy.

I looked down on the way home and saw the closed lid of the ashtray. I opened it for old times sake, grinning slightly, simply to see inside. That was vacant, as I had expected. But behind the detachable inside of the ashtray, I noticed a white piece of what appeared to be paper sticking out. It stayed stuck when I pulled at it. I eventually pulled into a petrol station, parked, and gave the ashtray a careful look.

My name was scrawled on an old envelope that was laying beneath the plastic bowl where the ash was supposed to be gathered. Then I was stunned. The envelope had a little yellowing from age and was written in Grandpa’s hand. It was mushy and actually rather hefty. I carefully removed it and ripped it near the top. Out of the corner appeared a note that said:

Graham

I genuinely hope you will like this car as much as I did. Since I showed you how to take care of it, I expect you to keep her gleaming.

It makes little difference that your mother and sisters are presumably all furious with you by now. There is just one person I think of as family.

As it happens, your grandmother was never alone. I just stayed quiet, even though she assumed I was unaware of it. Eh, better not to disturb the boat.

It produced your mother. That much was obvious to me right away. I am the parent of one legal child. But that is beyond the point because you have been to me like a son.

I’m leaving the Chevy to you and little else for that reason. About their real grandfather, everyone knows. As you were the youngest and we were so close, they kept you out of it. You should know, nevertheless, that I adore you no matter what.

Cheers to the journey.

Grandfather.

I cried, I’ll own it. That was really heartfelt. I smiled broadly the whole way home. Even with the startling disclosure, I knew Grandpa loved me, and now I had the Chevy back with the person it really belonged with. Happiness had me forgetting about the envelope.

A few minutes ago, as I was pulling up at home, I grabbed it out of the ashtrays. A massive jewel winked at me when I glanced after feeling something jangling about inside. I was amazed to turn the envelope over and saw written on the back, “I had no doubt that you would find the candy.”