“Nice metaphor,” I said.
“I liked it,” he said, combating my sarcasm with a brilliant smile.
As we rounded the corner to the bookstore, I texted my mom. Dad told me. He wants me to be something called director of photography. I don’t even know what that means.
She must have been watching her phone as closely as I was, because she wrote back immediately. It means you make the whole thing look good. That’s a perfect job for you. Trust your instincts. The world is run by people who have no idea what they’re doing.
Me: That’s what Theo said.
Mom: He’s smart. Then she sent me a bunch of links to articles with titles like “Visual Element: How Cinematography Tells the Story” and “Taking Your Film from Good to Great,” followed by a horribly cheesy meme with a gopher wearing star sunglasses that read GOPHER YOUR DREAM, then added, Think how great this project will look on your RISD application (!!)
She was simultaneously the worst and the best. And, in a shocking turn of events, clearly not in favor of me applying to the same school as Dax. I shot Dax a quick text. How’s the drive? Yes, it made our lopsided conversation look even more lopsided, but making contact made me feel slightly better. I shoved my phone back into my pocket.
Theo was right about the bookstore. The word “packed” didn’t begin to do it justice. The terrace was completely full of people, and the inside was elbow to elbow. Geoffrey the Canadian stood at the register, ringing people up like his life depended on it, while Ana flew around the shop, answering questions and shoving romance books at unsuspecting customers. Bapou was holding court in the worn armchair, and when he saw me, he jabbed his cane at me and yelled, “Beautiful! Welcome to Santorini!”
“Thank you!” I yelled back.
When she heard me, Ana nearly threw a stack of romance books in her haste to get to us. “Did she say yes? Liv, did you say yes?”
I gestured to my new T-shirt and my cherry-red binder. “I said yes.”
Her face transformed with happiness, and she gripped my upper arms so tightly it almost hurt. “The moment they were accepted into the series, he wrote to you and your mother. He said that no discovery would be right without you and that he thought you’d love this. And he’ll need your help. He really, really will.”
For a moment the floor dropped out from under me, and I felt it—that old pain flaring up in the same familiar spot. I’d never understood the term “heartache,” because I’d always felt my pain in my throat, a tightening that made me wonder if I’d be able to breathe. Had he really said that no discovery would be right without me? If so, what had changed between nine years ago and now?
I stepped backward slightly. “But this is his dream.”
Her face tightened in concern. “Well, of course,” she said, “but—”
Luckily, a customer came up right at the moment, giving me a chance to escape. I fled for the bathroom/cave and quickly locked the door behind me, taking a moment to settle myself.
All of this with my dad was so confusing, it was probably best if I stuck with the things that did make sense. We were making a documentary, and it was my job to make it look good. I could do that.
As the newly minted DP of the project, the only thing I could think of to do was survey my makeup supplies to figure out what I’d brought that would help my dad look his best on camera. I obviously didn’t want him to look like he was wearing makeup, but a little coverage might be helpful. I picked out a few items and stuffed them into my bag.
Up on the rooftop, Theo was attempting to shove a shocking amount of equipment into his backpack: video camera batteries, lavalier microphones, a tangled heap of cords, and more notebooks than even I had. Dad had changed into a white button-up and khaki pants and traded in his ball cap for a brown, wide-brim hat. He was also completely loaded down with equipment.
When he saw me, he pointed to the hat. “Liv, what do you think? Is it too much?”
I shook my head. “It gives you an Indiana Jones kind of look.” And was probably exactly what National Geographic was hoping for. Flawed but hopeful explorer, confident that his every dream lies just around the bend. Well, they’d found him.
Theo reached for my dad’s largest bag. “Let me get that, boss. You shouldn’t be carrying all of this.”
My dad attempted to swat him away, but Theo persisted until he had it slung over his shoulder.
“Ready, Liv?” my dad asked.
I nodded. Then he and his ten thousand remaining bags turned and lunged for the stairs, because never in a million years had my father done anything slowly. No wonder he and Theo got along so well. But all the energy in the world didn’t make getting down to the dock any easier. It was quite the ordeal.
First, we had to march down the marble walkway through town looking like a parade of bag ladies in matching T-shirts. Not only did every tourist we passed by stop to stare at us, but it felt like every single local we encountered—the people putting out their wares, shop owners, random old women with grocery bags—not only knew my dad, but seemed to have something important to say to him. Three different men ran out to talk to him, each one asking him for some sort of mechanical advice, while two different women stopped him to marvel over me and do the cheek patting thing that Maria had done. By the time we reached the edge of town, my back was already slick with sweat and I was ready to keel over. I’d take running with Dax over this any day.
Main Street ended at a partially crumbled structure built out of dark, mossy rock, making it stick out among all the white like a fly on a wedding cake. Its roof, if it had ever had one, was long gone, and it stretched out to the very edge of the cliffs. Whatever it was, it had what must be the best view in Oia.
“What is that?” I asked, slowing to look.
“Watchtower of a Venetian castle,” my dad said. “It was built in the fifteenth century to protect the inhabitants from pirates. A large portion of it collapsed in the 1956 earthquake.”
“The fifteenth century?” I stood on my tiptoes to take a look. The castle made the oldest building I’d ever seen back home look like a toddler.
“I used to play in it as a boy. Now it’s a great place to watch the sunset or for brides to do photo shoots.” As if to prove his point, a veiled bride suddenly stepped out from behind the wall, a photographer trailing after her. My dad tilted his chin and smiled. “Kaliméra!”
I was momentarily distracted by the idea of my father as a child, scampering around the ruins of a castle, so it took me a moment to realize that my dad was talking to yet another person.
A dark-skinned man with a thick beard stood painting in the center of the tower, and when he noticed us, his face opened in a wide smile. “Nico! Is today the special day? Will you find Atlantis?” His accent wasn’t Greek, but I couldn’t quite place it. Spanish? Portuguese?
My dad reached out to shake his hand, his face lighting up. “Possible, always possible. But I have an even more important question for you. Is today the day you will finish that painting?”
“This masterpiece? You’re lucky if I finish it before the end of summer!” the artist yelled.
“Liv!” My dad beckoned to me, and I made my way over, attempting to peel my T-shirt from where it was already stuck to my back. It wasn’t terribly hot yet, but the way the sunlight reflected off the white surfaces made me feel like one of the fried pastries I’d seen in Maria’s shop window. Theo stayed with the bags, his camera perched on his shoulder. I was beginning to feel like a reality-TV star.