Page 11 of The Big Race

Such a Good Team

T he day before we were scheduled to depart, we got an email from the production team.

A car would be dispatched to pick us up at our home at four o’clock the next day.

We would be driven to a hotel “in Miami” where we would meet the production crew and the other teams. We’d go over the rules and sign more forms. The next morning we would be transported to the starting point.

We were both as nervous as long-tailed cats in a room full of doors. Ray couldn’t sit still. For the third time in an hour, he went through his backpack, checking the contents against a handwritten list. “Passport, wallet, sunscreen, insect repellent, compression socks...”

“You’ve been through that list a dozen times already,” I said, though I was guilty of the same obsessive checking. My own backpack sat by the door, packed and repacked to optimize weight distribution.

“I just want to make sure we’re prepared,” Ray replied, not looking up as he rearranged his clothing for maximum space efficiency.

I paced from the living room to the kitchen, my mind racing with all the unknowns ahead. Would the other teams be younger, fitter? Would our first challenge play to our strengths or expose our weaknesses? What if one of us got hurt, or worse, let the other down?

“Do you think we should have trained more?” I asked.

“We trained as much as we could,” Ray said. He abandoned his backpack and came to stand beside me, his hand finding the small of my back. “You’ve watched every season of this show. You know the challenges are designed to be unexpected.”

“That’s what worries me,” I admitted. “We’re not exactly spring chickens anymore.”

Ray laughed. “Maybe not, but we’ve got something the younger teams don’t have.”

“What’s that? Arthritis?”

“Experience,” he corrected, squeezing my shoulder. “Twenty-five years of solving problems together. That counts for something.”

I wanted to believe him, but the doubts kept circling.

“Hey,” Ray said, reading my face. “One challenge at a time, remember? That’s what Dr. Lieber told us.”

Early that evening, Ray and I were in separate rooms packing our final items when we heard the front door chime as it opened.

I zipped my toiletry bag closed and ran for the stairs. “What the hell? Are they early?”

I was surprised to see Leo in the hallway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a determined look on his face.

“Surprise,” he said, stepping past me into the foyer. “I thought you might need some moral support before the big adventure.”

“Leo! What about your classes?”

“It’s Thursday night. I don’t have Friday classes this semester, remember?” He set his bag down. “I can drive back Sunday. Where’s Dad?”

“Upstairs packing.” I hesitated. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“That’s kind of the point of a surprise.” He studied my face. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“Of course I am.” I pulled him into a quick hug. “Just... stressed about tomorrow.”

“All the more reason I should be here.” He headed toward the kitchen with the confidence of someone who still considered this home. “Have you guys eaten? I’m starving.”

Ray appeared at the top of the stairs. “Leo? Is that you?”

“The one and only,” Leo called back. “Hope you’ve got food. I didn’t stop on the way.”

Ray shot me a questioning look as he came downstairs. I shrugged, equally confused by our son’s unexpected appearance.

In the kitchen, Leo was already rummaging through the refrigerator. “There’s nothing in here except protein shakes and—what is this, kale? You guys are worse than my roommate’s girlfriend.”

“We’ve been eating clean for training,” Ray explained, coming into the kitchen. “And we cleared out the perishables since we’ll be gone.”

“Well, I’m ordering pizza.” Leo pulled out his phone. “The usual?”

Ray and I exchanged another glance. The “usual” was our traditional family order—half veggie supreme, half meat lovers, and an order of cheesy breadsticks that Leo would inevitably consume entirely by himself.

“Sure,” I said, settling at the kitchen island. “Why not?”

While we waited for the pizza, Leo launched into stories about his film production classes, a new documentary project he was working on, and the latest campus drama. The easy flow of his conversation filled the tension-laden silence that had become the soundtrack of our home.

After the pizza arrived, we migrated to the living room, balancing paper plates on our laps like we used to do on movie nights when Leo was in high school.

“So,” Leo said, reaching for his third breadstick, “when do I get to see the full list of countries you’ll be visiting?”

“They only tell us the starting point,” Ray said. “The rest we learn as we go.”

“That’s so cool. Like a real adventure.” Leo’s eyes shone with excitement. “Are you guys nervous?”

“Your dad’s never nervous about physical challenges,” I said.

“And your pop’s never unprepared for anything,” Ray added.

Leo nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s what makes you guys such a good team.”

We finished the last of the pizza, Leo once again devouring all the breadsticks. “I was thinking about that camping trip we took when I was ten. Remember? In the Everglades? I’m going to clean up, and then I think we should watch that video of the camping trip.”

Ray and I exchanged confused glances. “What video?” I asked.

“The one Dad took with that old digital camera. I found it when I was looking for photos for your audition video.” Leo headed toward the kitchen. “You both need to see it.”

When Leo returned from the kitchen, we gathered around his laptop on the coffee table. He pulled up a video file, and suddenly we were transported back twelve years.

The footage was grainy, the colors slightly washed out, but there we were. A younger Ray behind the camera, narrating as I attempted to set up our tent. Leo, ten years old, was trying to help but kept getting distracted by birds and insects.

“This is Jeffrey Morgan, wilderness expert,” Ray’s voice said from behind the camera, laughter evident in his tone.

On screen, I looked up and made a face. “If by ‘wilderness expert’ you mean ‘guy who actually read the instruction manual,’ then yes.”

“Pop, this pole goes here, right?” young Leo asked, holding up a tent pole.

“Let me see, buddy.” My younger self knelt beside him, gently guiding his hands. “That’s it. You’ve got it.”

The camera panned to show our campsite—the tent half-erected, our gear neatly organized thanks to my packing system, the cooler Ray had insisted on bringing despite my concerns about its weight.

“And here we have the mighty Everglades,” Ray’s voice continued as the camera swept across the landscape. “Where Leo the Brave will catch his first fish tomorrow.”

“If the mosquitoes don’t carry us away first,” my voice called from off-camera.

The scene changed to evening, the three of us sitting around a small camping stove. I was demonstrating how to safely light it, Leo watching intently. Ray must have set the camera on something to capture all three of us.

“Now, the key is to turn the gas on just a little before you use the striker,” I explained.

“And if all else fails,” Ray added, “that’s why we brought Pop’s fancy sandwiches as backup.”

“They’re not fancy,” I protested. “They’re practical. Protein, carbs, vegetables—a complete meal.”

“With the crusts cut off,” Ray teased.

“Leo doesn’t like crusts!”

“I don’t mind them anymore, Pop,” Leo piped up, causing Ray to burst out laughing.

The younger me tried to look annoyed but ended up laughing too. “Fine. More crustless sandwiches for me.”

The video continued, showing snippets of our weekend: Ray teaching Leo how to cast a fishing line, me showing him how to identify different bird species, the three of us huddled in the tent during the sudden downpour.

“See?” present-day Leo said, pausing the video during a clip of Ray and me working together to secure the tent in the rain. “That’s what I remember. You guys were always a team. Different approaches, same goal.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. The easy partnership captured on video seemed so distant from where we were now.

“We used to be good at this,” Ray said quietly.

“You still can be,” Leo insisted. “That’s what I’m trying to show you. These differences between you—they’re not weaknesses. They’re your superpower as a couple.”

He continued, “That’s how it always was growing up. Dad taught me to swim, to ride a bike, to stand up to bullies. Pop taught me to think before acting, to find creative solutions, to express my feelings.”

He set down his plate, his expression suddenly serious. “Are you still thinking about a divorce?”

We both tensed up.

“Come on. I’m not a kid anymore.” Leo looked between us. “I’m not worried. I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”

“We’ve been in counseling, trying to decide if we can move forward.” I sighed. “Neither of us knows what’s going to happen on the race.”

Leo looked between us, his filmmaker’s eye seeming to catalog our faces and our body language. “This race—it’s what? A last chance?”

“Not exactly,” I said, thinking of Dr. Lieber’s advice. “More like... a classroom. A place to learn how to be partners again, not just roommates or co-parents.”

“A reset button,” Ray added.

Leo closed the laptop and looked at us earnestly. “This race isn’t just about you two. It’s about our family. About everything we built together.” His voice wavered slightly. “I don’t want to lose that.”

I reached for his hand, suddenly aware that in focusing so much on my broken relationship with Ray, I’d failed to consider how our potential separation would affect Leo. He’d already lost one set of parents. The prospect of his second family fracturing must be terrifying.

“We’re trying, Leo,” I said. “That’s why we’re doing the race.”

“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “And that’s why you’re going to succeed. Not because you’re the strongest or the fastest team, but because when you work together, you’re unstoppable.”

Leo stood up. “It’s getting late, and you guys need a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you before you leave.”

“Thank you,” Ray said. “Not just for coming, but for... everything.”

“Just bring home that million dollars.” Leo attempted a smile. “Or at least don’t get eliminated first. That would be embarrassing.”

“Tomorrow,” Ray said after Leo left, “when we start the race—what if we make a pact?”

“What kind of pact?”

“No matter what challenges they throw at us, we agree to listen to each other. Really listen. I don’t automatically dismiss your caution, you don’t automatically resist my speed.”

“Partners,” I said. “Not competitors.”

“Exactly.”

I considered his proposal, remembering Dr. Lieber’s advice about the race being a classroom. “Okay. I’m in.”

Ray stood up and offered his hand. He pulled me to my feet so we were standing face to face.

“Whatever happens,” he said softly, “I want you to know that the best adventure of my life has been being your husband.”

The sincerity in his eyes made my chest ache. “Even better than climbing Mount Kilimanjaro?”

A small smile curved his lips. “Even better than that.”