I was 17 when my grandpa passed away, but I still remember the day. I had just gotten home from school when my mom sat me and my two sisters down — unusual, considering my mom worked night shifts back then and barely had any time to catch up with us after school. I knew something was wrong as she took a deep breath before spilling the news.

My grandpa died at the age of 82. He didn’t suffer, thank goodness, and he had been active for his age. He had always loved vintage cars and would often take me to car shows, which is where my love for everything with an engine came from. My grandpa was so influential in my life that I eventually became an engineer because of his hand in my upbringing.

Even though Grandpa couldn’t afford to buy an entire assortment of vintage automobiles like many of his friends who also attended the car shows, he had one vehicle that he spent every weekend cleaning and tweaking minor details. And every weekend, my mom would drop me off so I could help him out and bond with my grandpa. I always thought Mom just wanted us to be close, but it seems it was more convenient for her that way.

Nonetheless, my weekends with Grandpa gave me some of my favorite memories. Whether it was the time I knocked over the oil can, or when Grandpa accidentally scratched the Chevy Bel Air’s red paint job, it was all a lot of fun and we never ran out of things to do. I especially liked helping Grandpa because he would fill the ashtray with candy — Grandpa never smoked and told me to stick to candy instead.

Every weekend, I’d jump in the car, open the covered ashtray, and pull out a handful of candies. Then, having eaten my treats in a few quick gulps, we’d get down to business. My sisters would scoff when my grandpa asked them for help. Instead, they preferred to spend time with my two cousins. We were never close. But I didn’t mind. I loved spending time with Grandpa.

Anyway, when I got the news that Grandpa had passed away, I was heartbroken. He was my best friend, even throughout my teens. I remember running up to my room, where I spent the rest of the evening. The following morning, I walked down to the kitchen still in my pajamas — I wasn’t going to school the very day after my grandpa had passed — and everyone was giving me the cold shoulder.

I thought they were angry at me for leaving so abruptly, so I apologized to my sisters, but they just snorted and walked away. Feeling dejected and now very isolated, I went to my mom to hear what was wrong.

“Honey, you have to understand that it’s only expected for your sisters to be a bit jealous. If you hadn’t stormed off, you would have heard that your granddad left you the Chevy.”

I gazed at her in disbelief. Grandpa’s Chevy? He’d never let anyone else have it. It was his. It couldn’t be mine. I couldn’t even drive properly by that point.

“Now, don’t look so excited. You’re acting like a real vulture. I’ve decided that you won’t inherit it.”

Even more of a shock. This day was turning out to be too much, and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet.

“You can’t drive yet, my love. If you had gone for your test last year like I had told you to, I would have let you keep the car. Well, maybe. My point is, I’ve decided to sell the car and divide the money between you, your sisters, and your cousins. It’s only fair.”

I was fuming. My grandpa had worked so hard on that car, and now my mom was going to pawn it off to the highest bidder. The utter disrespect made my blood boil. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day also holed up in my room, trying to work through the emotions storming inside me.

No matter how much I pleaded in the following week, my mother refused to budge. As far as she was concerned, the car was already sold. Eventually, a buyer turned up who offered my mom $70000 for the car, and I watched him drive it away, almost feeling my grandpa sighing in disappointment. That was the moment I decided I would get the car back no matter what.

From that point on, my relationship with my mother was unstable, to say the least. My sisters always seemed to harbor some jealousy because Grandpa left me a car while they each merely got $4000. But it made sense. I spent every weekend with Grandpa, while they just loafed about, unwilling to even hand him a wrench when he asked for it. Nevertheless, I went out, got my license, and started working part-time to earn my own money.

I built up a good amount, went to college, and used my love of machinery to spur me on my way to become an engineer. Graduating top of my class helped me land a prestigious post at a high-end engineering company, and at the age of 27, I finally found the opportunity to fulfill the promise I had made 10 years prior. I was going to get my grandpa’s Chevy back.

I tracked the man who bought the car down and called him up. He was a nice guy. He had a passion for vintage cars much like Grandpa. We spoke for a while, and although he was reluctant to sell the Chevy, he said I could stop by and take a look at it. So, I went on a road trip to the town where I was raised and before long, I was looking at the curves of Grandpa’s favorite car once again.

It felt like a dream. The color was the same, the trim was still in great condition, and the entire thing looked like it was brand new. The owner, Michael, had never really driven the car. Instead, he collected a number of vintage cars and showed them off every now and again. Apparently, only three people had ever set foot in the car, excluding my grandpa and me.

I was overjoyed to hear this, and when Mike saw me gazing at the car as if it were an old friend, he buckled and handed me the keys for $80000. It was a steep price, but it was worth it. I got into the car and drove it home with a huge grin on my face. I would fetch my other car later on. But the Chevy wasn’t all I got from the deal.

On my way home, I glanced down and spotted the ashtray’s closed lid. Smiling faintly, I opened it up for old time’s sake, just to glimpse inside. It was empty, as I had assumed it would be. But from beneath the ashtray’s removable innards, I saw a white piece of what seemed to be paper jutting out. I plucked at it, but it was stuck. Eventually, I got to a gas station, parked, and inspected the ashtray properly.

I removed the plastic bowl where ash was meant to be collected, and lying beneath it was an old envelope with my name scrawled on it. I was astounded. It was Grandpa’s handwriting, and the envelope was slightly yellowed from age. It was quite heavy and lumpy. I took it out gingerly and tore it at the top. A note peeked out, which read:

Graham,

I hope you’ll enjoy this car as much as I did. I’ve taught you how to look after it, so I expect you to keep her shining.

By now, your sisters and mother are probably all ticked off at you, but that doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I consider family.

You see, you’re grandmother always had someone on the side. She thought I didn’t know about it, but I just kept my mouth shut. Better to not rock the boat, eh?

Your mom is the product of that relationship. I’ve known this from the start. I don’t have a single legitimate child. But that’s neither here nor there because you have been like a son to me.

That’s why I’m leaving you the Chevy and little to anyone else. They all know about their real granddad. They kept you out of it because we were so close and you’re the youngest. But you deserve to know that I love you no matter what.

Enjoy the ride,

Grandpa.

I won’t admit it easily, but I teared up. It was so touching. I drove the rest of the way home with a huge smile on my face. Despite the shocking revelation, I knew Grandpa loved me, and now I had the Chevy back with the person it truly belonged with. I was so happy, I forgot about the envelope.

I picked it up from the ashtray just as I stopped at home, a few minutes ago. I felt something rattle around inside, and when I looked, I saw a huge gem winking at me. In awe, I flipped the envelope around, and on the back was scrawled, “I had no doubt that you would find the candy.”