Off The Record
Woman Assists Stranger On Roadside—His Reaction Uncovers Her Hidden Past
In Atlanta, Georgia, it was a sweltering summer afternoon. The air smelled somewhat of hot rubber and engine oil, and the heat glistened like a mirage off the tarmac. A sleek black Aston Martin stood peacefully on the shoulder of a long stretch of roadway, its hood up and steam rising into the air, as cars sped by.
The 38-year-old self-made millionaire and IT entrepreneur Elijah Brooks was standing next to his wrecked car, muttering obscenities. His normally calm face was contorted in rage, and his fitted navy-blue suit was now crumpled. He had no service on his phone to call for assistance, and he had a board meeting downtown in less than an hour. Today had to be the day his car broke down out of all the others.
He heard an older pickup truck slowly rumbling up behind him as he paced back and forth, kicking at the gravel on the side of the road. The Ford F-150 was a faded crimson, dirty and damaged, but stable. A Black woman in her mid-thirties emerged from the driver’s side. She was dressed in work boots, torn jeans, and a basic tank top. Her cheek was streaked with grease, and her hair was twisted up in an untidy bun.
“Are you okay, sir?” She shouted while using one hand to block the sun from her eyes.
Elijah looked around with amazement. She didn’t appear to be a roadside assistance worker or a tow truck driver.
Yes—well, no. I’m late for a meeting because my car overheated. No signal is coming out here either.
She nodded and started to move approach the car’s open hood.
She leaned in to check more closely and stated nonchalantly, “Pop the hood latch for me again.”
Elijah paused. “You know cars, don’t you?”
She took a handkerchief out of her back pocket and used it to wipe her hands while grinning. superior to the majority of mechanics. Amara is my name.
Elijah walked back and popped the lock, skeptical but with no other choice. After checking the coolant level and inspecting the engine, Amara squatted next to the tire and peered underneath.
“Your serpentine belt appears to be on the verge of breaking, and your water pump is leaking.” It’s no surprise that it overheated,” she whispered.
Elijah blinked. “That took you two minutes to figure out?”
“I was raised repairing engines. Before he died, my father operated a store for 25 years. Now I run it.”
Pulling out a red toolbox, she got up and walked back to her pickup.
“I can sufficiently mend it to allow you to resume your activities.” To the closest exit, anyway. However, you will soon require a suitable remedy.
Elijah was astounded not only by her talent but also by her composed assurance. With the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times, she moved.
“Oh, of course. Thank you, I mean. Actually.”
Elijah watched her hands move deftly as she went to work. She poured coolant from a jug she always kept in the rear, tightened clamps, and swapped out a hose for one she took from her truck.
Elijah began, “I have to admit that it’s not every day that someone stops and offers to fix a million-dollar car without asking any questions.”
Amara laughed. “Well, I don’t see a fancy automobile stuck and someone trying to wave down aid who looks like they belong on a Forbes cover every day. It seemed fated.”
He smiled. “You’re not incorrect.”
They laughed quietly together. Elijah then caught sight of a ring glinting on her left hand. The emerald stone placed deep into an antique-looking gold band made it distinctive even though it wasn’t very ostentatious. The band was engraved with intricate designs.
“That’s a pretty ring,” he remarked, gesturing to her hand.
After a moment of inaction, Amara glanced at her hand and gave a small smile.
Indeed. It belonged to my mom. She gave it to me right before she went away.
Elijah’s eyes narrowed. Something about it felt familiar.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but where did your mom get it?”
Amara gave a shrug. An heirloom in the family. She didn’t say much. told me not to sell it and that it was older than it appeared.
Elijah’s thoughts whirled. He had seen that ring, or something very much like it, previously. His grandfather had mentioned a ring that had previously belonged to a woman he loved but had lost touch with years ago at a fundraiser organized by his family’s organization. A woman of Black descent. Such unions were controversial, if not outright prohibited, back then. He had previously given Elijah a picture of the ring. And it resembled this one exactly.
“Are you alright?” He was startled out of his reverie by Amara’s question.
His eyes were full of inquiries as he looked up. You mentioned that your mother gave it to you. Has she ever mentioned her mother’s name to you?
Amara changed her expression. “Why are you asking?”
“Because that ring… I believe it may have anything to do with my family.”
They were silent for a long time. Now, something unsaid made the air feel heavier rather than the heat.
“I apologize if that is too personal,” Elijah said hastily.
It’s simply The ring appears to be one that I heard about from my grandfather. He—a woman who wore it had captured his heart. a long time before my birth. He didn’t see her again.
Amara looked down at the ring. Her mouth opened as though she were going to speak, but she shook her head.
“I’m not sure. My mother never discussed her parents much.”
Something in her gaze told Elijah not to push, even if he wanted to say more and go further. At least for now.
She closed the hood after tightening the last clamp.
After brushing off her hands, she replied, “You’re good to go—for now.”
Elijah gazed at her for a considerable amount of time, feeling both immensely attracted and uneasy.
“I’m at a loss for words. Thank you.”
She gave him a skewed smile and teased, “You can start by not letting it overheat again.”
He chuckled. “Just. Is there any way I could acquire your card? I may require that whole repair.”
Taking a business card out of her back pocket, she gave it to him. “Amara’s Auto.” Southside. Open Monday through Saturday from 9 to 6.
His gaze lingered on the name as he accepted it.
“Amara… Have you got a last name?”
She paused. Then: “All right. Wells, Amara.”
Elijah felt his heart beat faster.
Delilah Wells was the name of his grandfather’s former sweetheart.
Wells was the name Elijah kept thinking about.
After Amara’s roadside magic, the past started to fit together in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle as he drove back toward the city, his automobile humming along.
Howard Brooks, his grandfather, had mentioned the love he had lost perhaps once, perhaps twice. Delilah Wells had been her name. During the early 1960s, when interracial love was frowned upon and even hazardous, they had fallen in love. Howard was raised in a prosperous Southern household. Delilah was a Black woman who taught in schools and was intelligent and driven.
Their bond had been genuine, intense, and eventually shattered.
The last blow had been family pressure. The relationship was forbidden by Howard’s father, and Delilah, who was independent and refused to be humiliated or hidden, left. The ring that Howard had previously given her was all that remained.
However, decades later, a woman by the name of Amara Wells wore that identical ring on her finger. Unknowingly, the woman who had just saved Elijah had unearthed a long-lost chapter in his family’s past.
He continued to look at the business card she had handed him:
Elijah drove down to the Southside the following day, something he hadn’t done in years. Beyond Midtown’s skyscrapers and co-working spaces, beyond Inman Park’s condos and coffee shops, and farther into the historic districts that were still teeming with life and hardship.
On a peaceful corner across from a barbecue restaurant and a closed laundry was Amara’s Auto. The building was simple, with prominent white lettering painted in a brilliant blue color.
Elijah entered the room. He suddenly smelled coffee and engine oil. Behind the counter, a young man raised his head.
“Do you need a tune-up?”
“Really… I’m trying to find Amara.”
The man jerked a thumb toward the garage and added, “Back in Bay 2.”
Elijah located her beneath the hood of a Mustang after hearing metal banging and motors buzzing. When she saw him, she didn’t appear startled.
“Has the car already broken down again?” she smirked and questioned.
“No,” he responded in a more solemn tone. “But I must speak with you.”
Amara stood up, cleaned her hands, and gave a nod. “All right. Shoot.”
He paused. “When you told me your name yesterday… I didn’t say much, but Howard Brooks was the name of my grandfather.”
Her eyes slightly expanded. He went on.
He once shared with me the story of a woman he adored. Delilah Wells, a Black woman. She had on a ring that resembles yours exactly. Yesterday, it struck me like a brick when I saw it.
Amara’s face were unreadable as she gazed at him.
She whispered, “My mother’s name was Jasmine Wells.” Three years have passed since her death. She kept her father out of the conversation. She always responded that he wasn’t there and didn’t want to be when I asked.
Elijah took a deep breath. “My granddad… I doubt that he was aware of her pregnancy. He always thought Delilah had simply moved on.”
The air between them was heavy with something too great to name, and they stood silent.
Elijah reached into his coat and added, “I brought something.” Late last night, he took out a faded photo that he had found in his grandfather’s old albums. It was in black and white. A young Howard Brooks was standing next to a beautiful woman with a daring gaze, a cheeky smile, and a slightly cocked head.
Amara softly grasped it in her hands. Her breath caught.
“My grandmother is that,” she muttered.
Elijah gave a nod. “So, I believe that makes us family.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Your grandfather was also my grandfather, then.”
Elijah’s voice was heavy as he responded, “Yes.” This implies that my grandfather had a daughter that he was unaware of. Your mom. That makes you, I suppose, my cousin.
Overwhelmed, Amara leaned back against the automobile.
She said, almost to herself, “I thought we came from nothing all my life.” While I was a child, my mother had three jobs. She started this store from the ground up. She carried a grief that I never understood, but she was proud. Perhaps this was the cause.
Elijah whispered, “I believe she should have been given answers.” Additionally, I believe my grandfather passed away unaware of the reality. However, we are now here.
Still in shock, Amara shook her head. It’s crazy. You were just a wealthy man in a suit with a broken automobile yesterday. You are now family.
Elijah laughed, but it had a hint of feeling.
“I suppose a flat tire was fate’s plan.”
A lengthy, silent minute passed between them.
“So what now?” she finally said.
“We write a memoir and go get a DNA test.”
He smiled. “Perhaps not yet. However… I want to keep in contact. Find out more about your mother. Your store. And perhaps tell you a little bit about our family as well. both the positive and negative.”
Amara gave a nod. Indeed. I believe I would enjoy that.
She glanced down at the ring on her finger, the one her mother had inherited from her own. It was no longer just jewelry. It was evidence of intergenerational love, loss, and connection.
“It’s humorous,” she remarked. That ring always seemed lighter than it actually was. I now see why.
After several months
Elijah would assist Amara in growing her business and transforming it into a state-approved training facility for women of color aspiring to work in the automotive industry. “Wells & Brooks Auto Academy” was the name they gave it.
The mainstream media covered the story of a millionaire who broke down on a highway and was saved by his long-lost cousin, but they failed to document the silent mending that took place behind the scenes.
Amara was at last aware of her origins.
Elijah discovered a piece of his family that he had been unaware he had lost.
Additionally, the ring, which had previously just symbolized a love that was short-lived, now stood for something much more potent: a legacy revived.
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