Pain washed over me in a tidal wave, and I had to look away. “Good morning.” I was surprised to hear my voice come out normal.
“Good morning, Liv.” He said “Liv” carefully and precisely, like he’d spent last night practicing it. Hearing him call me by my new name did nothing to improve the mixed-up feeling in my stomach. “How did you sleep?”
“Like I mentioned, she snored like a wildebeest,” Theo said. “It was almost as bad as you.”
“I do not snore,” I protested, whirling on Theo. He’d somehow managed to get his camera out without me noticing, and he was filming me. Again. I swatted at the camera, but he shuffled back a few steps, his grin appearing underneath the viewfinder.
“You do. Just like your dad,” Theo said. “I had to turn up the music.”
“You have yet to capture any proof of my snoring,” my dad said. “And until I hear it with my own ears, I refuse to believe that Liv does either.”
“Liv” sounded a tiny bit more natural the second time. And I liked that he was backing me up on the snoring thing, but I hadn’t come halfway across the world to talk about how well we had or had not slept. Time to get down to business.
I held up the call sheet. “Congratulations on the documentary, Dad. It sounds really…” I took a deep breath, fumbling for a word. “Promising.”
Promising? Not quite the right word.
But my dad’s face lit up anyway, his smile so bright I could hardly bear to look at it. Energy rippled through him, and I could tell he wanted to come hug me. Instead he tapped his fingers against the edge of the chair. “Thank you, Liv. And what I said in the postcard is true. I really do need your help. Our deadline is tight, and we could use some extra eyes on the overall visuals.”
“I’m not sure I can help with that, but I can try.” I hesitated, then my curiosity spilled over. “So, what is the documentary about exactly? The Santorini theory?”
Saying that aloud made me feel light-headed. Post-Dad, learning that most people thought Atlantis was a hoax had felt like dismantling gravity—painful and disorienting—and now here I was treating it like it was something to be considered.
His face suddenly went serious. “Partially. I have some new theories and evidence to add, and I want to explain the entire thing to you, start to finish.”
Evidence. There was that word again. My heart was galloping now. What was with all the suspense? “Okay…”
He gestured to the chair. “Why don’t you sit down? As the Greek philosopher Plato said, ‘No important endeavor should ever be attempted without coffee.’ ”
I couldn’t help the laugh. “Plato did not say that.”
He smiled his crooked smile, and the familiar look made my chest feel warm. “You’re right. I said that. But it’s true, isn’t it? And my guess is that you’ve graduated from stealing sips of grown-ups’ coffees to a cup of your own.”
He’d guessed right. And besides, I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.
“I’ll get Maria,” Theo said. He’d somehow managed to make me forget he was there, and when I spun around, the camera was still aimed at us.
“Don’t you need a release form or something?” I asked. “Because you do not have my permission.”
Theo grinned, then darted for the stairs, taking his camera with him.
And then… it was just us. For the first time in almost nine years. A thick and uncomfortable silence seeped into my dad’s makeshift office. I tried to ignore it by fiddling with my shirt and pretending to check out the view, but who was I kidding? This could not be more awkward. My dad seemed to be struggling for words too. Finally, he pointed at my shirt. “I see Theo has given you a uniform.”
I nodded, my move embarrassingly exaggerated. “Yeah. And typed up a call sheet. Is he always so… ?”
“Intense?” My dad smiled. “The best ones always are. He cares a great deal. About this project.”
“And about you,” I blurted out, stating the obvious.
“Yes.”
Another long, awkward silence.
“So… what’s all this?” I slid into my chair and looked down at the map, but I regretted it immediately. It was almost an exact replica of the one I had buried deep in my suitcase. I may be nine years older and in an entirely different country, but looking at the map’s worn-out edges took me right back to our kitchen table all those years ago. No wonder he hadn’t taken the map with him. He hadn’t needed it.
“Oh,” I whispered. My heart was in my throat.
My dad attempted to meet my eyes. “Look familiar?”
Duh, I wanted to say. No matter how much I didn’t want it to be, the map’s image may as well be burned on the back of my eyelids.
Luckily, Theo and Maria appeared, coffees in hand.
“Maria! S’efcharistó!” my dad said, jumping up to give her a hand.
Maria clucked happily, passing me a doll-size cup that nearly made me laugh. This was my Plato-prescribed coffee? Was I supposed to take it like a shot? Sip it slowly? I looked at Theo and my dad for clues. They both seemed to be having a spiritual experience, sipping slowly and reverently, so under Maria’s watchful eye, I went in for a large sip.
Wrong move. I coughed, loudly, and Theo had to whack me on the back a few times. “Kalamata, breathe!”
It tasted like melted cedar and was more bitter than anything I’d ever tried. If this was what my dad was used to, no wonder he’d always called American coffee “weak as a kitten.”
“Sorry,” I managed. “Down the wrong pipe?”
Maria looked at me in concern. “Very good, yes?”
“So good,” I managed. I put the cup to my lips, but the second she turned away I set it down, leaning in to Theo. “Please tell me this is not what all coffee tastes like in Greece?” I whispered.
His mouth dropped open. “Of course it is. Boiled instead of brewed, the way it was intended to be made,” he said, not bothering to whisper. “And don’t you dare offend Maria—she has ties to the Greek Mafia. Cross her and you’ll sleep with the fishes.” He held up two fingers, pointing from his eyes to mine.
“Nice Godfather quote,” I said, shooting a look at Maria. He was joking, 93 percent sure. Still, I brought the cup to my mouth again. Sip number two went just as badly, and I couldn’t help the face I made. Luckily, Maria and my dad were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice.
“Okay now. You work!” Maria suddenly shifted toward me, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before leaving us—the crew—alone. My gaze went right back down to the map. I couldn’t help it. Up close it was pretty clear that this was Map 2.0, or our first map’s older, smarter sister. The island had been drawn in much more detail, and instead of all the scattered, sprawling writing, the margins had been sectioned off and filled with neatly written Greek characters. And not a single serpent cartoon in sight. His theories had obviously evolved. And I had not been a part of that.
A big, heavy door swung shut on me. Rejection. After all this time it shouldn’t hurt like this, but it did. It really, really did. I felt a sudden, confusing homesickness for our original map. And by this point, my anticipation was killing me. Had his theory really evolved? If so, how?