So that sucked.
As I staggered up the hill, I moved fast, trying to burn off some steam, which was fitting, because that was exactly what this island seemed to be doing. The island was monochromatic, with just a few sprigs of yellow plants and flowers offsetting the rock, and in some spots, succulents bloomed in dizzying patterns. It was also releasing steam into the air. So yes, active volcano. I could see it with my own eyes. Theo and my dad had chosen a great place to film; it was so stark and strange that it was beautiful.
I could hear the crunching of rock galloping from behind me. Theo. I sped up but immediately slipped and had to throw my hands out to stop myself.
“I overstepped my bounds,” Theo said in an out-of-breath voice once he finally caught up.
“Big-time.” I controlled my voice, made sure it was strong and sturdy. I was Liv. I didn’t let the topic of my father affect me like this anymore.
He bit his lower lip, his eyes on mine. “I’m sorry. I just really care about your dad.”
The intensity of his voice caught me off guard. I stopped walking, then slowly turned to face him. “Theo, I appreciate that you care about my dad—”
“And you,” he interjected.
Whatever. He didn’t even know me. I shook my head. “Sure. But you can’t give people advice when you don’t know them. What if I tried to give you advice about your family?”
He seemed to actually consider this. Take it in. “True,” he said. “Very, very true.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know what? You’re right. I messed up. I do care a lot, but that wasn’t a good way to show it. I’m sorry. I really want to be your friend.”
I’d known him for less than two days now, but I already knew this was true. He did care. Also, I needed an ally in Theo.
“It’s okay,” I said, my shoulders relaxing. “Let’s just try to have a good filming day.”
“Thanks, Kalamata.” He looked up at me hopefully. “On an entirely unrelated note, did you know that the olive branch has historically been used as a symbol of peace? The United Nations even has it on their flag. Isn’t that interesting?”
I’m pretty sure it was physically impossible to stay mad at him for long.
* * *
The crater was a large, well-formed indentation with a lip circling its edge. I found my dad crouched on one side holding a handful of soil and speaking rapidly in Greek to a small family who stood around excitedly asking him questions. No doubt he was explaining the surface manifestations of geothermic activity or the mineral composition of the volcanic rock or some other scientific facts he seemed to have been born knowing.
When we came into view, his face lit up. He gestured to me, and I heard the Greek word for “daughter.” The couple beamed, and I attempted a smile back, but it felt wrong.
The woman made her way over to me, holding her sun hat on with one hand. “Very good. To work together. Very good.”
“Atlantis!” her husband said, smiling large as he raised one fist into the air.
“Yes, thank you.” It was the only response I could think of. No one here seemed to think my dad’s Atlantis hunting was out-there. It almost made me wonder if I was the ridiculous one. Almost.
“See? His fans find him,” Theo said from behind me.
While Theo and my dad set up the camera and tripod, I made my way around a part of the crater that was filled with small yellow flowers, which was charming among all the black rock. The crater kept sending up puffs of sulfur into the air, and I couldn’t help but think how much my mom would hate the smell of it.
When I circled back, Theo had already set up the tripod and was positioning my dad to stand in his view of the sheer cliffs of Santorini, and the solid white buildings on top looked like a light dusting of snow.
“Okay, Director of Photography, where do you think we should film?”
It took me a second to realize my dad was talking to me.
“Um…”
“He’s going to talk about the destruction of Atlantis.” Theo had his camera out on his shoulder now, hat turned backward.
“Okay, destruction. I’m guessing we want… drama?” They looked at me hopefully. Which spot would be best? The sun was a bright hot circle above me, and I squinted around nervously. Why did they think I could do this? The couple beamed at me encouragingly. This was obviously making their day.
What made the most sense? Santorini in the background? The crater? And where would the light be best?
“Think of it like a painting,” my dad suggested. “Something to frame the subject.”
I spun around, letting my eyes follow the perimeter of the island. “Well… I don’t think you can pick a bad spot. It’s all beautiful. And the lighting—” I stopped, because there it was. A view so perfect it was almost comic.
“There,” I said. I took off, heading for the view, while Theo, my dad, and the couple hurried after me.
The spot was made up of the same dusty rock as the rest of the island, but a divot in the rock had formed a small cove, and beyond the rock the ocean faded from bottle green, to turquoise, to deep cobalt, with Santorini floating in the distance. Patches of brick-red succulents coated the ground. It was the color that did it. It was just so satisfying.
“Perfect,” my dad pronounced, and the couple clucked their approval.
While Theo set up his tripod, my dad changed into his fresh shirt and took his place. Theo and I studied him through the viewfinder. It felt easier to look at him that way. Like looking at the sun with sunglasses. He gave us a thumbs-up.
“What do you think?” Theo asked me.
I looked up at my dad. “No hat. It’s giving you weird shadows under your eyes. Also, you’re kind of shiny.”
“It is my curse,” my dad said. “And the walk was very hot.”
We were all sweating. The woman took off her hat and fanned herself with it. Regardless of his credibility, I didn’t want my dad to look like a sweaty tourist. I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders, remembering the makeup I’d brought, plus the blotting sheets I always kept in the bottom of my bag. The proverbial sweaty apple had not fallen far from the tree.
“Hey, Dad, okay if I put a little makeup on you?”
His face shone even more. “Makeup? Of course.”
I walked up to him, digging through my backpack before coming up with some concealer, ChapStick, and a brow gel. My dad smiled at me, and I thought I caught a whiff of nervousness. “Layer it on, Liv. Do you think you will need a paint roller?”
“No, definitely not.” Up close, his face did look weatherworn and a bit puffier than I remembered. “I’ll have you dab your face; then I’m going to do some light coverage and cover up some sun damage and the circles under your eyes. Then I’ll try to tame your brows a little.”
“May the gods be with you,” he said with a smile. I passed him the blotting sheets, and then we got to work.
It felt strange to be so close to a face I’d thought about so often, but I tried to put that out of my mind and focus on doing a good job. My hands shook slightly as I carefully applied concealer onto his cheeks. We were almost eye to eye now—my mom’s height had given me a boost—and as I patted the makeup into his skin, it reminded me a bit of when he used to let me put shaving cream on his face. Also, our skin tone was exactly the same, and when I put my hand to his face, his whiskers were as sharp and as scratchy as I remembered.