“I-I don’t know…,” I stammered.
He put his hand up reassuringly. “That is also more than okay,” he said. The sun had already turned into its molten, golden mass. Dad was right—watching it from the water with the light splashing over everything was incredible. Like I was actually becoming a part of the sunset, rather than observing it.
“And the thing about Atlantis?” My dad’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Sometimes it’s more about the hunt.”
I nodded again, because I had no idea what else to do, and when I looked down, I realized his hand was pressed to his inner arm, right on the spot where I knew the tattoo of my geographic location was. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. And now I was wondering how many times he had done that while he was here and I was on the other side of the world.
He turned to me. “Tomorrow night, I will take you to one of my favorite places on the island. Kamari. Liv, you will love it.”
And just like that, I was signed up for a second solo night with my dad. So long to avoiding the past. It was inked into our skin.
Chapter Sixteen
#16. MINIATURE SPIRAL NOTEBOOK, WITH NOTES WRITTEN IN GREEK
I was endlessly fascinated by my dad’s ability to write in Greek. I heard him speak in Greek all the time, both to me and to his friends in Chicago’s Greektown. I was used to that. But writing in Greek? Now, that was impressive.
I found the notebook tucked in the glove box of our car two weeks after he left, and when I saw the writing, I thought maybe it was a clue. I knew my mom couldn’t read it, so one afternoon before she got home from work, I took it to Markos—the owner of our favorite Greek deli—and asked him to read it for me.
Markos must have already heard the news about my father, because his eyes darted apologetically toward me.
It was a grocery list.
MY OPTIMISM SET WITH THE sun, and by the time we returned to the dock in Ammoudi Bay, my heart felt nearly as heavy. I wanted to believe in my dad, the same way I wanted to believe in Atlantis, but that would require ignoring reality, and I wasn’t about to do that again.
Here were the actual facts. Even if my dad had wanted to chase Atlantis or end his marriage with my mom, he didn’t have to leave me. He could have visited. Or called. I knew a lot of people with divorced parents, even people whose parents lived in different cities or states. They didn’t fall off the edge of the earth when they left. They didn’t disappear. This wasn’t a trumped-up golden city we were talking about after all. This was a father.
The entire way up to the bookstore, it felt like a balloon was expanding in my chest, the pressure crowding out my ability to think or feel anything. I wanted to escape. Leave all this mess behind. I managed to keep it together until we reached the bookstore. Then, once my dad disappeared down the street, tears began spilling down my face, dragging all my eyeliner with it. Had I really gotten all dressed up just to have my heart broken all over again?
I needed to regroup. Focus. I thought of my phone charging up in the bunk room and felt a shot of hope. I needed to talk to Dax. He’d help me—Liv—remember my real life, not this alternate reality where my feelings about my dad still controlled everything.
I rushed back to the bookstore and found it unlocked but empty, a single lamp illuminating one corner. There must not be a lot of thieves intent on stealing romance novels. I clambered up into the bunks, reached for my phone, then dropped back down, dialing Dax, all in one smooth motion.
It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. Dammit.
“Answer,” I said aloud, then hit dial again. Same thing. Only this time it went to voicemail after three rings. I pressed the phone tightly to my ear, willing the sound of his voice on the voicemail greeting to make me feel slightly more grounded. Hey, it’s Dax. Leave me a message and I’ll probably call you back. I needed that probably to be a definitely.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Dax. Will you call me as soon as you can? It’s been a rough day, and I really need to talk to you.”
What was he doing right now? Surfing? Lying out on the beach? I couldn’t help but wish that I was doing that too. After a few seconds I stumbled over to the travel section of the bookstore, running my hand along the covers, hoping to get my mind off things. Finland. Japan. Turkey. Russia. That stupid saxophone song was still in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what my dad had said. Do you think it’s possible that you can believe in me for a bit? How do you believe in someone who left you when you were eight years old? And how was I supposed to manage the enormous chasm that existed between how he said he felt about me and what his actions said about how he felt about me?
I looked down at my phone, willing it to ring. “Dax, call me back now,” I demanded.
“Rough night?”
I jumped about a foot, dropping my phone in the process. It clattered noisily at my feet.
Theo was sitting in the chair behind the register, and he spun around slowly like the villain from an old Bond movie. A marmalade-colored cat lay curled up on his lap, along with a red notebook and a pen.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. I couldn’t decide if I was more embarrassed or angry. Had he heard my voicemail to Dax? I studied his concerned eyes. Yeah. He definitely had.
He shook his head. “Sorry. That was a lot funnier in my head. I meant to startle you, not make you throw expensive gadgets.”
“Mission not accomplished.” I scooped up my phone and stuffed it into my pocket.
“How was the dinner cruise? Did you lower the average age?”
“By a lot.” I sighed and crossed the room to pet the cat, who arched its back in annoyance. Despite my interest in them, cats never seemed to like me. “Who’s this?” I asked.
“Purrnest Hemingway. Not to be confused with her sister, Margaret Catwood.” Purrnest jumped off Theo’s lap and hid behind a tower of books.
“Really?”
Theo shrugged. “Geoffrey is excellent at pun bookstore cat names. I think it’s half the reason my mom keeps him around. And you aren’t answering my question. How was the sunset cruise? It was with Kostas, right? Please tell me he played his saxophone.”
“Did he ever.” I sighed again, then remembered Theo’s part in the whole debacle. “And my dad and I talked about Atlantis, thanks to you.”
Theo spun lazily in his chair, clearly not at all concerned about the angry vibes heading his way. “Interesting. How did you feel about the conversation?”
I sank onto the desk, wilting like one of the houseplants I was always rescuing from my mother. “I don’t know.”
Theo held up his pen. “The subject has a difficult time discerning her emotions,” he said, pretending to scribble on his notebook.
I swung my legs over, bumping them into his. “You’re a punk.”
He widened his eyes. “Really? No one has ever told me that. And I’m curious, do people usually call you back when you tell them to from a long distance?”
I kicked his kneecap lightly. “Sometimes. And here, I brought you this.” I tossed him Kostas’s hat.
“Always wanted one of these.” He pulled it on, adjusting it so the brim was low over his eyes, then looked up at me thoughtfully. “My mom warned me that you looked gorgeous tonight. And you do.”