“I’m sorry my mother yelled at you.”
“It’s okay. I’m a guest, but I can help set the table for dinner.”
Roger looks at his friend. Perhaps he shouldn’t have invited him to his home. His mother had not been herself ever since his grandfather died. But he knew she was mainly upset because of the stories. There would be no more new stories.
Roger opens the drawer and takes out the table cloth.
“Why is the table so wobbly?” Fergus puts his hands on different ends of the table and moves it up and down.
“My granddad used to fix things. He still knew how things worked.”
Fergus looks around and picks up something that looks like a brick. “What’s this?”
“It’s an ephoon. It’s granddad’s One Thing.” Roger takes the thing from Fergus. It’s black with smooth edges and a little part that feels just like his little sister’s belly button, exactly the size of his thumb.
“What is it used for?”
Roger shakes his head. “It’s not useful.”
“Then why did your granddad choose to bring it? If you can only bring one thing when you have to flee your planet, why would you bring something that isn’t even useful? It doesn’t make sense.”
“He said it holds everything he loved. Music, books and photographs.”
The boys look at it. It sure is beautiful.
“What are photographs?”
Roger shrugs. “He never said.”
Fergus takes the ephoon and puts it beneath one of the legs of the table. He comes back up and puts his hands on both ends of the table. “It works! I guess your granddad was right. It does hold everything. Very useful thing, an ephoon.”