Soaked to the bone but visibly thankful, the woman couldn’t stop saying “thank you.” She fumbled for her purse, insisting on paying him for his time and trouble. John just gave her a genuine smile and waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was no trouble at all. I’m just glad you’ll be able to get home safe now.”
“I’m Sarah,” she said, still looking grateful. “Are you absolutely sure I can’t do something for you?” John shook his head, the rain dripping from his hair. “I’m sure. It’s all good. If you really want to do something, just help the next person you see who’s in a jam.”
Sarah gave him a warm smile, but her gaze lingered on him for a second. It was an odd look, thoughtful, as if she was processing more than just the jump-start. With one last wave, she got in her car and drove off, disappearing into the storm. John headed back to his truck, and by the time he got home, the incident was already fading. Two days went by, and life returned to its normal rhythm; the encounter in the rain was nearly forgotten.
He was at the garage, right where he always was, immersed in his work. Customers came and went, engines were diagnosed, and the day progressed just like any other. He was halfway through an oil change on a pickup, ratchet in hand, when the shop phone rang, cutting through the noise of the garage.
He picked it up, expecting a customer question. Instead, it was his neighbor, and his voice was hurried, almost panicked. “John? You have to get home. I’m not kidding, you need to get here right now.” His neighbor paused, then said, “There is a helicopter landing on your front lawn.”
A helicopter? John was completely baffled. He dropped the wrench, wiped the grease from his hands with a dirty rag, and hurried out of the bay. He barely remembered the drive home, his mind stuck in a loop. What on earth could be going on? He felt a knot of anxiety mixed with sheer confusion.
He turned onto his street and his jaw dropped. His neighbor hadn’t been joking. A large, sleek, corporate-looking helicopter was parked right in front of his small house, its rotors still. A small group of people, all wearing professional suits, were standing near it, looking directly at his approaching truck.
John killed the engine and got out slowly, approaching the group with caution. He felt completely out of place in his greasy work clothes. Before he could even ask what was happening, one of the men in a suit stepped forward, looking perfectly calm. “Mr. Thompson?” he asked. “We are here representing an individual you assisted two days ago.”…
