The best Treasure Hunt we ever did was the one Ruth planned for our big move three years ago. Four Treasure Hunt words spread across the country. Four words, with four perfect pictures, pictures that capture the music and smells and feel of that time, a happy time.

Now we’re driving across the country again.

Hence, my secret plan.

“Ruth, you packed your medicine?” Mom asks.

“Yeah.” Ruth absently reaches for the bowl of grapes in the middle of the table, and Dad scooches it toward her. His eyes blink, a little tired under his bushy eyebrows. Apparently when I was a baby, I used to try to catch those eyebrows in my hands like they were caterpillars.

“You know the Instagram rules,” he says.

“Yep,” I say. “No direct messaging and no pictures of my face.”

Ruth looks at the table and stays silent. I catch both Mom and Dad glancing at her.

I’m pretty sure Ruth is excited about this trip like I am, and excited about finding our box again, even if she doesn’t show it as much. That’s what I think, anyway. Because who wouldn’t be excited about a cross-country road trip in an RV? Digging up buried treasure? And pirate ships?

That’s right, pirate ships.

Okay, so the ships at Wreck Alley aren’t exactly real pirate ships; they were built to be sunk for the coral and scuba-diving tourists like us, with professional guides to keep us in the safe zones. Still, though. Pirate ships. And the ships are only about a mile or so off the beach from that cave at Sunset Cliffs, where our box is buried. After we get to the beach and dig up our treasure box, it will be like those Mary Read/Anne Bonny days all over again. But even more real this time.

And of course there’s my plan for this trip. If I told Ruth outright that I’ve researched and strategized a reverse version of the Treasure Hunt we did on our first drive across the country, she might shoot it down or roll her eyes or just say she’s too tired, but I’ve got something more stealthy in mind.

Ruth knows about our box, how we’re going to dig it up together. But she doesn’t know that the box is the treasure at the end of a cross-country Treasure Hunt, the way unboxing our stuff in our new house was last time. She doesn’t know about my plan for secret pictures, secret replica images from our first trip, and when she sees them, she’ll understand. She’ll see how much the good things—our treasure—mean. She’s got to.

Even though nobody has specifically said out loud that this trip is for her, it is, a little bit. Her doctor said getting out and experiencing new adventures would probably be a good thing for her. Plus connecting with past happy memories. Memories of us playing loud music and jumping around the couches wearing billowy T-shirts and eye patches after counting our treasures. This trip checks both those boxes perfectly.