I’m crying now onstage even though I’m not exactly sure what is happening.
The film cuts to the old folk’s common room at the home. My old able-legged silver-haired friends are gathered around my wheelchair-bound silver-headed friends. With his oxygen bottle by his side, Old Man Linder steps forward and says, “Kid, you were the only one who came to visit us when we needed a good laugh. Life is a long, long race, and the finish is often lonely. Even our own flesh and blood—many of our sons and daughters—abandoned us at some point, so when we heard about what happened to your mother, we all wrote you into our wills. Some of us are giving more than others, but you should be all set covering your Bryn Mawr tuition over the next five years or so. Maybe there’ll be some left over for law school too.”
The audience is clapping now, camera crews are rolling film, women are crying, and I’m still not sure what the hell is going on.
But then Franks and The Five walk out onto the stage.
Franks has a live microphone. He says, “I’ve never met a person with more spirit, I’ve never met a person with more hope and love in her heart, I’ve never met a more deserving person than Amber Appleton. She never thinks of herself first. She’s always thinking up some crazy scheme to help others, whether they want help or not. Well, Amber, this time it was The Five who thought up a plan to help you in your time of need.”
Ricky, Chad on Das Boot, Jared, Ty, and Lex Pinkston dressed as a Puerto Rican gang member—they are all smiling at me.
“You are loved, Amber Appleton,” Franks says.
“So this money is for me?” I ask.
“It’s your college fund.”
“What about Bobby Big Boy’s operation? How will I pay for that?”
“She wants to know how she’s going to pay for her dog’s operation,” Franks says into his microphone, and the audience starts laughing—as if everyone is in on the joke except me.
Dr. Weissmuller stands up in the third row, smiles, and yells, “On the house!”
The audience cheers again, and then some bright loser starts yelling, “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
The chant catches on, and then Franks is handing me the live microphone.
I’m still crying a little.
“Thank you, everyone. I’m not really sure this is real, or what it means exactly. I hope my mom is looking down on us tonight,” I say and then pause, because I start to cry a little harder.
I swallow and think about my mom.
She’d have liked to see this.
She would have crapped her pants when that last number flashed up on the screen.
“I don’t know what else to say. I’m speechless. Thanks.”
I hand the live microphone back to Franks, and he says, “Thanks for coming, everyone. You make me proud to live in Childress—the town that takes care of its own. Drive home safely!”
And before he sees me coming, I give Franks a big old teddy-bear hug right onstage—getting my arms halfway around his big belly and sinking my tear-streaked face into his chest.
Surprisingly, he hugs me back, and I smile and close my eyes—savoring the moment.
“You’re a good man, Franks,” I say. “You really are. True.”
“How about you give the rest of us some love, sweetheart?” Chad says.
But before I can answer, I’m rushed by a bunch of reporters who stick cameras in my face and ask me all sorts of personal questions about my mom.
Before I can even think, Donna is onstage, yelling, “My client has no comment at the present moment! Boys, let’s get her out of here!”
So I say a quick goodbye to PJ, FC, The KDFCs, DWL, The Hard-Working Brothers, Old Man Thompson, and— “Get the hell out of here already before those reporters lynch you,” Old Man Linder yells at me, and then squeezes my shoulder like he always does.
The Five gets me the hell out of there, leaving Das Boot behind, because it doesn’t fit into Donna’s Mercedes. No worries. Mr. Fox will take Das Boot home in the Fox family van.
In the car I pet BBB, hug my boys and thank them for getting everyone to participate in the show, filming Joan of Old, and raising money for my college fund, which is pretty amazing. I even thank Lex, who is still dressed as a Puerto Rican gang member and is somehow smushed in the car with us—making us The Six and no longer The Five.
Donna says, “Sundaes at my place!”
After a quick stop at the food store, I wash my hands, make proper sundaes in Donna’s kitchen for my boys, and then we celebrate the night by sharing ice cream and sword fighting with spoons. True.
After everyone is finished eating, the boys go to Ricky’s room to play Halo 3, and Donna and I wash dishes in the kitchen.
“What the hell happened tonight?” I ask.
“The town of Childress came together and tried the best they could to make a wrong right. And I’m not talking about the money. They came together in the auditorium, gave their time to say that they care.”
“Why?”
“Because most people are good,” Donna says, and then passes me a rinsed bowl.