Andrew

ROCKY HORROR LETS LOOSE ANOTHER STRING OF expletives from the truck cab behind us and I raise my voice, trying to drown him out with the best Stitch impression I can muster on a lack of sleep and sore legs from walking so much.

It’s tragic that these kids will never get to see the real Lilo Stitch, because it has to be the best animated movie ever made. But I am proud that it’s my most requested movie retelling.

Though I’m certain that comes from the fact that we’re all our own little fucked-up ‘ohana.

Meanwhile, behind me, Cara and Rocky Horror’s platonic lovers’ spat has grown louder as he still struggles to hot-wire the five-seat pickup truck he said he could hot-wire almost an hour ago. The pickup would work well for us because it has a truck cap on the back bed that we could pile all the kids into. But I’m starting to worry we’re wasting our time.

“And I think maybe we stop the movie here for now and go for a walk and potty break,” I say, clapping my hands. The kids groan, but Daphne nods and she and Kelly jump in to coax them to stand.

Jamie even looks a little disappointed when the Kid stands up—the Kid who has become the bravest of the orphans and asked if he can sit on Jamie’s lap during “movie” time.

“You were just about to get to the best part,” one of the kids says.

I nod. “Yes, it’s called antici . . . pation. Which reminds me to tell you the movie that Rocky Horror’s namesake comes from.”

Kelly snorts. “You packed gold bikini briefs?”

“No,” I say. “But Jamie did.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively at him as we herd the kids away from the corporate center parking lot toward the main road. And now I have a new item of clothing to look for when we stop.

“How come you never told me that one before?” Jamie asks as we head across the road where the trees and shrubs are overgrown, providing privacy.

“You never asked for it,” I say.

“To be fair, I’m not sure I ever asked for any of them. But I do enjoy hearing the ones I’ve never seen.”

I gape at him. “You’ve never seen it? Oh man, I need to tell you about the deleted scene.” I always skip over the scene when Stitch takes the Ugly Duckling book into the woods because that scene makes me cry and I do not cry in front of the kids. But I bet if I can deliver it without sobbing, I can absolutely get Jamie to cry.

We walk into the woods and separate—Daphne and Kelly take the girls one way, and Jamie and I point the opposite way for the boys. The Kid doesn’t move.

“Go ahead,” Jamie says, shaking the hand that still holds his. “We’ll be right here.”

The Kid looks unsure but finally walks behind a tree.

“Okay,” I say, keeping my voice low and steeling my nerves. “So while the kids are distracted, after Lilo and Stitch have their falling-out, Stitch goes into the woods—”

But a sound stops me. Jamie’s eyes go wide.

It’s a car. A vehicle of some kind. And it’s coming up the road just outside the tree line, right toward us.

He pushes me down and we duck, peeking through the leaves of a bush. The sound grows louder, the tires humming against the broken asphalt.

There’s a red-and-white pickup truck leading the way, followed by a black sedan. I hold my breath, hoping that they speed past and keep going.

Then I gasp. “Cara, Rocky Horror, and Amy!”

“They’ll be okay,” Jamie says. The cars are getting closer. I glance to the corporate park and, yes, there is a line of overgrown arborvitae blocking the lot.

I turn back, looking behind me to make sure none of the kids are coming. We’ve been trying not to scare them, so we haven’t told them to avoid other people or cars. But hopefully they know. Or hopefully they’re too busy going to the bathroom to run out and see who is coming up the road.

“Do you think it’s someone from the Keys?” I ask Jamie.

He doesn’t answer. The truck is closer now, about to pass us. I focus on the driver’s-side window, trying to see who is driving it through the glaring sunshine.

My stomach drops.

The truck is moving fast, but I get enough of a glimpse of the driver that I recognize him immediately. I turn to Jamie, and I can see he recognized him, too.

And why shouldn’t he? He spent more time with Admiral Hickey on the boat than I ever did.

Which means the Keys have sent people after us.

We wait. When we hear leaves and twigs snap behind us, we quietly tell the kids to stay low. Daphne and Kelly join us, looking anxious.

After a few minutes I turn back to Jamie. “Think we’re good?”

It’s been quiet, no sound of engines or the whoosh of tires. They probably kept going. Or they stopped and are backtracking.

“Okay,” Jamie says. “I think we can head back.”

We move slowly, herding the kids across the road. Cara and Amy are waiting by the truck.

I nod at her and lower my voice. “It was Hickey.”

“They’re coming, then,” Cara says.

“Can you map a route that will hopefully keep us away from them?” Jamie asks.

She nods and heads over to look at the road atlas. Meanwhile Rocky Horror still hasn’t started the truck. I round the driver’s side of the pickup, where he’s lying under the steering column with wires dangling above his head.

“I stopped when Cara told me she heard cars coming,” he says, not looking away from the wires.

“It’s the Keys. They’re looking for us.”

“Then . . .” He touches two wires together and the truck engine cranks. He does it again and again, and on the fourth try, the truck roars to life. He smirks and scoots back out of the car, looking at the dashboard. “See? Told you I could.”

“And just in time.”

“Little over a quarter tank of gas,” he says.

“It’ll have to be enough.”

After we get the kids loaded into the bed—it’s a little snug with all of us, but the Kid doesn’t seem too disappointed to have to sit on Jamie’s lap again—Cara climbs into the passenger seat to be Rocky Horror’s copilot and we’re off.

And hopefully heading in a different direction from Hickey and the others.