Fortuitous

Trevor grabbed his backpack. As he tugged, he noticed the one strap dragging a small plastic bag from under the seat.

"Hey, Trevor...your stop," the driver said as he opened the door.

"Thanks Paul. Any idea who this belongs to?" Trevor held up the bag.

"No clue. All yours. Lucky!" Paul said with a sarcastic chuckle.

"My luck ran out months ago," Trevor said gloomily as he stepped off the bus.

As he went to toss the bag in the trash, he realized it wasn't empty, but contained a bottle of pills with a prescription label and a small, well-worn black leather book. Affixed to the front of the journal was a sticker he immediately recognized as being a patient sticker from a nearby hospital.

A flood of memories filled his eyes with tears. After composing himself, he called work to say he needed the day off.

A short time later Trevor stood in front of a quaint pale yellow bungalow with green shutters. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Several minutes passed, but Trevor could hear movement inside and could envision what was happening. Presently the door opened, and a small elderly woman appeared through the screen door. She wore what his mother would've called a "house frock", with a light pale yellow turban wrapped around her head.

"If you're selling, I'm not buying," she said with a surprisingly robust voice.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am. Are you Jean Aumueller?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Listen, young man, I don't know how you know my name, but I dont have time. I'm heading out."

"I'm sorry. Let me explain. I believe you left some items on the bus this morning. You DID ride the #10 bus this morning, right?"

"Blessed be! You found it!"

Trevor smiled and held up the bag.

"Don't worry. I have your medicine here."

He handed her the bag, which she quickly rifled through As her hands clasped around the small black book, she burst into tears.

Surprised at the reaction Trevor was quick to reassure.

"Ms Aumueller, please don't cry! I promise I haven't tampered with your medication. I know what it's for - its all safe, I promise! Please stop crying. I know what you're going through."

Jean struggled to speak as she tried to stop crying.

"You're too young to know," she said.

"My mother had cancer. I understand." he began to tear up. Jean's next question horrified him.

"How is your mother doing?"

Trevor tried to appear stoic but gulped nervously before saying quietly "She passed away six months ago."

Whatever apprehension Jean had been feeling was washed away an overwhelming sense of compassion for the young man. Still standing in the doorway she reached out her fragile arms and pulled the boy to her body. She held him tightly and repeatedly whispered "I'm so, so sorry for your loss."

Jean then invited the boy in. His name was Trevor, and she made him some tea and fed him lunch as she listened to him tell stories about his mother, their bond, and her struggles through her illness. He minimized those stories, aware that he was possibly foreshadowing Jean's own future. But he couldn't bring himself to talk about the end, and Jean didn't press. Trevor didn't want to frighten Jean with stories of his mother's demise, and Jean didn't want to torture him by making him relive it.

So she began asking questions about Trevor's life. He was 22 and lived alone. He had no siblings, and had never known his father. He worked at the factory third shift, a job he had taken when he dropped out of school at age 17 to begin caring for his mother. Jean asked if he often took the bus.

"Every day," Trevor replied.

"Don't you have a car?" Jean asked, then immediately regretted it as Trevor began to tear up again.

"I have my mother's car. She inherited it after my grandfather died. It's over 30 years old and doesn't drive, but I can't bring myself to get rid of it." He choked back a sob and Jean quickly changed the subject.

"I'd like to thank you properly for your thoughtfulness and chivalry in returning my things," Jean said. "Would you please come to dinner tomorrow night?"

Trevor protested, saying he didn't want her to exert herself. He was just happy that he had found her medication and could return it to her. But Jean wouldn't hear of it, telling Trevor it would be a much greater exertion to hunt him down to reward him. The twinkle in her eyes and the smirk on her face as she spoke caught Trevor off guard, and he laughed in spite of himself.

"Good," said Jean. "That's settled. Six o'clock tomorrow night."

It was 5:57 when Trevor knocked on the same little door that had started it all the day before. But this time it opened promptly, and he was dumbstruck at the sight in the doorway. Jean was wearing a mint green dress, her face looked younger and even healthier with a very light dusting of makeup, Small pearl earrings glistened just below a beautiful turban of matching green with tiny blue flowers on a white background.

"You look beautiful!" Trevor exclaimed. "You didn't have to get dressed up after cooking all day! But you look really amazing."

Jean laughed till her eyes teared up. "Who said I was cooking?"

She stepped out the door and pulled it closed, then locked it. She turned and extended her tiny arm, which Trevor graciously linked his through and guided her down the porch steps. But rather than heading towards the bus stop, Jean lead him on the walkway to the back of the house.

A small building sat alone, painted the same pale yellow, but the windows were boarded up and the shutters were worn, and half of them were missing. Jean stepped to the door, pulled a key from her handbag and unlocked the door, which she then pushed open. It rattled and creaked, but swung open with an effort.

"Come in here Trevor," she instructed, and Trevor obeyed. As he stepped inside, Jean turned on the lights.

Inside the dilapidated structure the lights revealed a marvelously laid out garage. Everything was neatly organized, but covered with a thick layer of dust. Trevor marveled at the tools, machinery...the order of everything. This was the laboratory of a master!

But what really caught his eye was the tarp covered mystery in the center of it all.

"This was my husband's sanctuary," Trevor heard Jean say. As he turned to look at her, he could see she was no longer focused on the present, but years away in a fog of days spent delivering sandwiches and lemonade to the man she loved as he tinkered endlessly on things she could never comprehend.

"He would spend hours in here," she continued, mostly to herself. "Sometimes I would get annoyed, but realized this was his relief. He was loving and kind, a good provider...how could I encroach on what brought him joy?" She sighed. "Now my only regret is not spending more time out here with him."

Looking around, Jean chuckled to herself, sharking her head gently "I haven't been in here since he died two years ago." She looked at Trevor.

"I'm too weak. Pull the tarp off, please."

Trevor grabbed the edge of the tarp and slowly pulled, revealing a pristine red "69 Ford Fairlane convertible.

"Whoa! Mrs Aumueller...what a classic! Did he buy it like this? Must've cost a pretty penny.."

"Please call me Jean. And no, it didn't look like this. Here, let me show you." She walked to the workbench and pointed to a picture.

Trevor was shocked. A partially rotted frame in the woods covered with rust spots and vines. He couldn't believe that was the beginnings of the classic sitting in front of him.

"Wow! He did all that himself in here? How long did that take?"

"From the time he bought it? A lifetime," Jean answered, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "We went for ice cream the day he finished it it. Two days later he died of a heart attack." She sighed. "I haven't been in here since."

She handed him a set of keys. "See if it starts."

Trevor refused, but, much like the dinner invitation, was worn down. He climbed tentatively into

the driver's seat. With a turn of the key, the engine sputtered briefly, then roared to life. Trevor was amazed - never would have thought it would have started!

"Damn! Oh, I'm sorry, Jean. I mean darn...he must've used only the best parts putting this thing together. I can't believe it started!"

Jean chuckled. "Tom was a damn fine mechanic," she said with a smile. "Now open the garage door...you'll have to move a few things Turn the car off so we don't choke to death."

Trevor killed the engine, then started moving jack stands and rolling tool boxes until he had cleared a path to the garage door, then, with an effort, opened the doors. He went back to the passenger side of the car and opened Jean's door, extending his hand to help her out.

She looked at him with a knitted brow. "What are you doing?" she asked and closed the door. "Get back in the car."

Trevor looked at her, then turned and walked back around the car and got in the driver's seat.

"Well? Start her up," said Jean, with mocking impatience.

Trevor started the car.

"Now, where shall we eat? I'm in the mood for Italian. Enrico's? They have wonderful pizza! Let's go there."

Trevor said, aghast, "I can't drive your husband's car! It wouldn't be right!"

Jean chuckled. "Of course not. But this is YOUR car. So let's go!"

Trevor was shocked. "What do you mean 'my car'?"

"I transferred the title to you yesterday," Jean said, producing the document from her handbag and handing it to Trevor.

The boy examined it for a moment, his brows knitted, his mind perplexed.

"Jean, this isn't right! This was your husband's prized...."

She cut him off.

"It's done. No arguing. And there are things you don't know yet. This IS right."

She smiled then began. "You see, every day since Tom died I've played his birthday in the lottery, Every day for two years. 1128. Monday those numbers hit, and I put the ticket somewhere safe to cash it in. Inside the cover of my little black book. The one YOU found on the bus and returned to me. Tom was the reason I hit the lottery, but YOU were the reason I was able to collect my prize. $20,000.00. It was a sign! Then when I heard the story about your mother's car, I realized I was doing the same thing! Holding onto something that didn't serve me at all! So I knew what Tom would've wanted me to do. I went down to the lottery commission, collected my prize, went to the bank to deposit it and transferred the car title to you. So you see, it's alright and it's all done. Now let's go. I'm getting hungry!"