Around us, the other teams were having similar moments of connection. Keisha squeezed her son’s hand. The sorority sisters bumped hips playfully. The professors shared a quick kiss. Even the military couple softened momentarily, their fingers brushing against each other’s.
“Teams,” Julie called, raising her arm. “The world is waiting! Travel safe!”
Her arm dropped, and the race began.
A horn blasted, and chaos erupted as twenty-four people surged forward toward the waiting clues, the race for survival—of both the competition and our marriage—officially begun.
Chapter 15
Old Habits
The moment Julie’s arm dropped, Ray was off like a shot, his years of athletic training kicking in automatically. I sprinted after him, already feeling the disadvantage of my desk-job conditioning despite our weeks of training. Around us, the other teams surged forward in a chaotic mass of colorful shirts and pounding feet.
Ray reached the clue stand first, snatching our envelope as Adrienne and Fletcher grabbed theirs just seconds behind. But he wasn’t allowed to open it until I arrived.
“Take one of the cars in the lot and make your way to Miami International Airport,” he read quickly. “Once there, book tickets on one of two flights to your next destination: Panama City, Panama. The first flight departs at 9:30 AM and has room for only five teams. The second flight departs at 11:30 AM.”
We rushed to the line of parked cars, with Cody hot on our heels. We had agreed that I would drive, and I jumped into the front seat of the third car in the line, with Ray in the back seat and Cody beside me.
We were the third to depart from the monastery. “I’ll bet most teams are going to head right down 167thStreet to the Golden Glades to get on I-95,” I said. “And they’ll hit rush hour.I say we veer off and take Route 9 south all the way to the 112. I used to work in Coral Gables and that road always had less traffic.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Ray said. “I’ve spent way too long in bumper-to-bumper traffic to argue with you.”
Adrienne and Fletcher and the male models were ahead of us, with the garbage collectors close on our heels. Through my rear-view mirror I spotted a few other cars. Ray always accuses me of being too aggressive when I drive, but he didn’t mind the way I darted between cars and trucks on 167thStreet. Only Ernie and George managed to stay on our tails.
“We need to be on that first flight,” I said, leaning forward on the steering wheel as I zoomed around a convertible driven by an elderly man. “Five teams out of twelve—those aren’t great odds.”
Ray grinned, a flash of the old appreciation for my strategic thinking. “This is why we make a good team.”
I decided that George and Ernie could be good partners for a while, so when I was ready to get onto Route 9 I signaled carefully, and George followed. “Why are you letting them follow you?” Cody asked.
“Because we need allies this early in the race. And those guys are smart and in good shape.”
As I hoped, State Road 9 was nearly traffic-free. Even when we merged onto 27thAvenue to head south, we were moving faster than we would have on the highway. I got us to the airport and followed the red-and-blue signs for The Great Race, showing us where to leave our cars, with the key fob on the seat.
Then Ray and I grabbed our bags and ran into the terminal, with Cody behind us. “Gate 23!” Ray called, spotting a sign. We sprinted through the airport, dodging travelers with rolling suitcases and families corralling small children.
The airline counter had a large “BIG RACE CHECK-IN” sign, where a smiling attendant waited. A production camera crew was already in position to capture our arrival.
“We need two tickets on the 9:30 flight to Panama City,” I said breathlessly.
The attendant checked her computer. “Names?”
“Jeffrey Morgan and Ray Carter,” Ray replied, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter.
She typed something, then smiled. “You’re the first team to arrive. Congratulations, you’re on the first flight to Panama City.”
Relief washed over me as she handed us our boarding passes. Behind us, George and Ernie were being checked in as the second team.
“First!” Ray exulted as we moved away from the counter. “That’s how we do it.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I cautioned. “We’re still hours from Panama City, and then the real challenges begin.”
Ray’s smile dimmed slightly. “Would it kill you to celebrate a small victory?”
“I’m being realistic. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
“I know that,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve run both.”
