Only good things can come through this, he tells me, holding it up and spying into the eroded centre. Winking through it at me.
A parting memory before disappearing forever from the beach.
Mum restrains my distress in sandy embraces and I raise the stone, desperately squinting for him through glassy, salted eyes.
The words crash into me as I hurl the wretched thing out to sea. It quickly sinks. Fruitless and hollowed.