Page 13 of The Big Race
“We’re at a crossroads,” I continued. “Twenty-five years together, a son we raised, a life we built. Do we throw all that away, or try to find our way back to each other?”
“That’s why we want to do the race,” Ray said, reaching for my hand—an unscripted gesture that made Leo smile behind the camera. “Not just to travel the world or win money, but to see if we still work as a team. If we can face challenges together and come out stronger.”
“We know it’s a risk,” I added. “The race breaks a lot of couples. But sometimes you have to risk breaking to find out what’s unbreakable.”
Leo filmed for another hour, asking questions that pushed us to be increasingly honest about our situation, our hopes, and our fears. By the time he called “Cut!” for the final time, I felt emotionally wrung out but somehow lighter, as if the camera had absorbed some of the weight I’d been carrying.
“That was perfect,” Leo said, reviewing footage on his laptop. “Raw, honest, compelling. If they don’t cast you after seeing this, they’re idiots.”
“Thank you,” Ray said. “For helping us, even though you’re angry.”
Leo looked up from the screen. “I’m still processing everything. But you guys raised me to believe that when something’s broken, you try to fix it before you throw it away.” He glanced at the family photos behind us. “I want to make sure you practice what you preach.”
As he turned back to his editing, I caught Ray’s eye. There was something new there—not hope exactly, but perhaps determination. The race was still a long shot, both getting cast and using it to repair our marriage. But for the first time in months, it felt like we were moving toward something rather than away from each other.
And maybe that was enough for now.
Later that evening, Leo showed us the rough cut of the video he’d put together. He’d intercut our interviews with photos from our past—Ray and me hiking together, the day we brought Leo home, family beach vacations and holiday celebrations. Over these images, our voices talked about teamwork and adventure and facing challenges together.
“I didn’t realize you had all those old photos,” Ray said, his voice tight with emotion.
“I found them in the albums in the guest room closet,” Leo explained. “Plus some from my own collection.”
The final shot was the two of us racing down the beach, followed by a freeze-frame of us laughing together at the lifeguard tower. It faded to black with Ray’s voice saying, “The best adventure I’ve ever had is building a life with Jeffrey.”
When the video ended, there was a moment of silence.
“Well?” Leo prompted. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” I said quietly. “You made us look like we have our act together.”
“Because you do,” Leo said with conviction. “I have faith in you.”
After Leo left to meet friends for dinner, Ray and I sat on the couch, the laptop open between us with the finished video ready to submit.
“Last chance to back out,” I said. “Once we send this, there’s no turning back.”
Ray studied my face. “Is that what you want? To back out?”
I thought about the therapy sessions that were opening more wounds than they were healing. About the empty space Leo’s departure had left in our lives that we didn’t know how to fill. About the way Ray’s face had lit up when we were racing down the beach, and how for just a moment, I’d felt that old spark between us.
“No,” I said finally. “I want to know, one way or another. If we still have something worth saving, or if it’s time to let go.”
Ray nodded. “Then let’s do this.”
He moved the cursor to the submit button, but waited for me to place my hand over his before clicking. Together, we sent our video out into the world, crossing the threshold into whatever adventure—or reckoning—awaited us.
Chapter 7
Call to Action
Three weeks after submitting our audition video, I’d nearly convinced myself we wouldn’t be selected. The waiting had become a strange limbo, neither of us mentioning the possibility of being chosen, continuing our uncomfortable dance of politeness during therapy sessions and measured distance at home.
I was debugging a client’s e-commerce site when my phone buzzed. The caller ID read “Unknown,” and I almost let it go to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Is this Jeffrey Morgan?” The voice was cheerful, professional.
