First I dragged the antique desk in front of my favorite section of bookshelves; then I tacked some of my dad’s old maps on the wall, arranged a pile of old leather books just so on the desk, positioned a few lamps, and shooed a few cats away. When I was finished, I stood back, satisfied. It looked like the kind of place someone about to have the biggest breakthrough of his career would sit to ponder. A space fit for an Atlantis hunter. Perfect.
Theo was adjusting his tripod when my dad stepped in, looking much more pulled together in a fresh shirt and combed hair.
“Makeup?” I asked.
But he shook his head and made his way to the desk. “Let’s tell the real story, no covering up required.”
Theo nodded. “Exactly.”
My dad took a seat, resting his elbows on the desk, while Theo and I looked at the scene through his lens. “Perfect,” Theo said.
“No. Something’s missing. Hold on.” Before I could talk myself out of it, I hurried up to the bunk to where I’d stashed our original map the night before. “You need to use this.”
The map was rolled up, and as he unrolled it on the desk, I saw the moment when he recognized it. He froze, and for a moment I thought I’d made a mistake. Should I not have given it to him? Finally, he looked up slowly. “You still have this.”
Not a question per se, but he was asking something. I could feel it. And now was not the time for sugarcoating. “I…” I tightened my hands, pressing my fingernails into my palms. “I kept it safe in case you needed it back.”
Now his eyes were shiny. “I can’t believe you’ve had it all these years.”
Theo’s camera was up of course. He could sense emotion like sharks could sense blood in the water, but without nearly as much tact. But to my surprise, he suddenly lowered his camera, dropping his eyes respectfully.
Even though I wanted to hide what I was feeling, I forced myself to stay present, because this moment, whatever it was, needed to happen at some point. Better now, when the possibility of finding something still loomed large. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
I stared down at the map, willing myself to be brave, willing myself to be Indiana Olive, the girl who had known so many things for sure. I closed my eyes briefly, and there she was. Crayon in hand, Dad beside her, connecting dots and examining clues. She could handle this.
I took a deep breath, opening my eyes. “Dad… earlier tonight I did some research, about the things we talked about on the sunset cruise. About the problems with what Plato said? I read probably twenty articles, and I think I’ve figured it out.” I caught sight of his raised eyebrows and had to look down quickly before I lost my nerve. “Before Plato, the story of Atlantis had only ever been passed along verbally, so there was probably a lot of human error before it ever got to Plato.”
He looked intrigued, so I kept going. “Plato said that Santorini was greater than Libya and Asia, which obviously isn’t true. But the Greek word for ‘greater than’ was ‘mezon,’ with a Z, and the word for ‘between’ was ‘meson,’ with an S. Santorini isn’t larger than Libya and Asia, but it is between them.”
His smile was overtaking the room. I kept going. “And as far as timing went, Plato said that Atlantis sank nine thousand years earlier, when Santorini’s volcano happened more like nine hundred years earlier. But the Greek symbols for nine hundred and nine thousand are nearly identical. He easily could have received mixed-up information.”
I did my best to ignore Theo, whose eyes I could feel burning a hole into the back of my shirt as I focused entirely on my dad. I had never felt so vulnerable before. I was about to say the opposite of what I’d said on the sunset cruise. “Dad, why is Atlantis so important to you?”
I felt Theo’s startled eyes on me. He’d been trying to get me to ask that question all along.
If I’d learned anything from the legend of Atlantis, it was this: stories evolved. They got passed down and twisted, and sometimes they came out okay and other times they quadrupled the size of continents or transported timelines to entirely different centuries. If Plato could have missed the mark so entirely, was it possible I had too? Was it possible I could learn something that maybe wouldn’t change this whole situation, but could at least give it nuance?
Maybe.
My dad’s eyes were thoughtful, his face determined. “I will tell you the beginning.” He looked at Theo. “On film?”
Theo fumbled for his camera, his face still surprised. “Whatever you want, boss.”
My dad took a seat, then carefully spread the map out in front of him. His body language was calm and composed, but he splayed his fingers a few times, a telltale sign I recognized from all those years ago. He was nervous. “Ready.”
Theo gave me a thumbs-up, and then I held my breath.
My dad looked straight into the camera. “My name is Nico Varanakis, and I grew up in Santorini. I was born to my father, Nico, and my mother, Madalena. We lived in a beautiful house overlooking the ocean, and our home was filled with people and wonderful things. My father was intelligent and loved literature and philosophy. My mother was gentle and a classically trained pianist. She held many recitals in our home.”
He paused for a moment, and I waited in the silence, my heart beating as if it could make up for all the quiet. I knew nothing about these people, hadn’t even known their names.
“In many ways, my childhood was magic. I was given a lot of freedom, and I spent most of the time rowing my own small boat, exploring caves and hunting for treasure on the beaches. But the year I turned ten, my life changed suddenly.”
Ten. I pictured myself at ten. It was both a lifetime and a moment away. By that age I already hadn’t seen my dad for two years.
He continued. “My father owned a vineyard called Meraki, one of the most well-known that has ever been on this island. The vineyards in Santorini are famous for several things. The volcanic ash and lava make for a distinctive type of soil, and so a distinctive flavor of grape. And because of the strong winds, the grapevines are grown coiled near the earth instead of on trellises. Also, because there is not a lot of rain, the volcanic soil is kept moist by the sea air.
“The work on the vineyard was all done by hand, and it employed many, many people. Sometimes it felt we had a small army working for us. My father supplied wine to the majority of the restaurants and hotels on the island. He also had many investors, all of whom lived on the island. He was constantly evolving his process, stretching the limits of what he could create.
“But then there were the allegations.” My father hesitated slightly but lifted his chin, determined to keep going. “He was accused of having committed investment fraud, and owing his employees tens of thousands of dollars. At first, we all believed he was innocent, but as time went on, we learned that he wasn’t. To avoid being prosecuted, my father left the country, abandoned us. We lost everything. My mother lost her entire life. Her family disowned her, and she had no money and no connections to take us elsewhere, and even if she had, our name would follow us. We were trapped. She sold everything she could and tried to make a living off piano lessons. But Santorini is a small place, and people believed she had been in on the deception. Former employees had lost their homes and life savings because of my father. No one wanted to be associated with us.”