Page 6 of The Big Race

Lights, Camera, Honesty

A fter he left, Ray and I stood in silence for a long moment.

“That went... not how I expected,” I said finally.

“Nothing about this is going how I expected,” Ray replied. “But maybe that’s not entirely bad.”

That afternoon we began following Leo’s directions as he filmed us going about our daily routines. He captured Ray on his run, me with my first cup of coffee on the patio, both of us working together to trim the bougainvillea that perpetually threatened to swallow our back fence.

“Now let’s get the talking head stuff,” Leo said, setting up his camera on a tripod in the living room.

He positioned two chairs side by side in front of the bookshelf where family photos chronicled our history—Ray and me on vacation in Colorado, Leo’s high school graduation, the three of us on the day his adoption was finalized.

“Just sit naturally,” Leo instructed, addressing the frame. “Don’t try to be TV personalities. The producers can spot fake from a mile away.”

Ray and I settled into the chairs, suddenly awkward under the camera’s unblinking eye.

“Okay, forget the camera exists,” Leo said from behind the viewfinder. “Look at each other, not at me. And tell me—tell the producers—why you want to be on The Big Race.”

Ray cleared his throat. “We’ve been fans of the show for years?—”

“No.” Leo interrupted. “Not the generic answer. The real one.”

I looked at Ray, saw the uncertainty in his eyes, and made a decision. “Three months ago,” I said, turning back to the camera, “I discovered that Ray was having an affair with a client.”

Behind the camera, Leo nodded encouragingly.

“It had already ended,” Ray added, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands. “But the damage was done.”

“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.