The Truth About Alice Read Free Page B

idiot. Brandon wasn’t a stranger to a couple of beers. The police said it was the drinking that probably caused the accident, but Officer Daniels said you mentioned something about Brandon’s phone? What can you tell me, sweetheart? I feel like there’s something you aren’t saying. Please, Josh. I just want to know everything that happened that day.”
    The television was on mute. I stared at ESPN for a minute. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was just sitting there on the edge of my dad’s old recliner. My mom had given her a glass of sweet tea that she held in her lap but she didn’t drink it. She just sort of clutched it with her hands.
    â€œWell, I mean…” I started. My heart was pounding real hard.
    â€œI know you don’t want to make trouble, but I feel like there’s got to be another explanation than he just had a few beers,” Mrs. Fitzsimmons said. She put the glass down on the coffee table and reached out for my hands. They were cold and clammy. Maybe from holding the sweet tea. Maybe just because they were. And I thought about all the times I’d been over to Brandon’s house since I’d been a kid. The millions of times. And how Mrs. Fitzsimmons was always so nice to me and everything, almost like another mom.
    And I felt my mouth moving and words just coming out, and all of a sudden I was telling her about Alice’s texts.
    â€œAlice Franklin?” Mrs. Fitzsimmons asked, her forehead wrinkling up.
    I nodded. I mean, it was kind of embarrassing because she was Brandon’s mom, but I’m sure even Mrs. Fitzsimmons had heard the rumors about Alice and Brandon and what had happened at Elaine’s party at the end of the summer. Everyone had been talking about Alice since then. Even the grownups.
    So I told her how when we’d been on the road, Alice had been sending Brandon all these texts and she wouldn’t stop.
    â€œTexts? What do you mean texts?” Mrs. Fitzsimmons said. “What would she be texting him about?” I looked at the television screen and I looked at the glass of sweet tea on the coffee table. But I couldn’t look at Mrs. Fitzsimmons.
    â€œUh, I’m sorry, but this is sort of awkward,” I said.
    â€œNo, it’s okay, Josh. The texts, were they, like, harassing?”
    â€œThey were, like, uh, sexual stuff,” I said. “Like stuff about that party and, uh, stuff she wanted to do to Brandon or whatever.”
    â€œHow many times did she text him while he was trying to drive?” Mrs. Fitzsimmons asked. “Lots. I mean, I lost count. They were popping up every second or so.”
    Mrs. Fitzsimmons nodded and I guess you could say she looked upset, but her face relaxed a little, like maybe there was a part of her that was also relieved. She finally took a sip of her tea.
    â€œSo you could say she was distracting him with her texts?” Mrs. Fitzsimmons asked.
    â€œYeah,” I answered. “You could say he was distracted.”
    â€œThank you, Josh. Thank you for telling me that. I know it wasn’t easy.”
    I nodded, and I was glad when she switched the topic to Brandon’s funeral and how touched she was that so many people came out for it and how happy Brandon would have been about that. We sat there for a little bit longer, just talking about Brandon and how much we both missed him, and Mrs. Fitzsimmons had to dab at her eyes a little with her napkin and stop every so often so she didn’t start crying really hard. When she decided to leave, she hugged me, but not too tight on account of my shoulder.
    â€œJosh, sweetie, I just want you to know you’re welcome at our house anytime,” she said. “Anytime, honey. I don’t want to lose touch with you. I hope you know that.”
    I nodded again, wishing she would just go home. I felt bad about feeling that way, but I just wanted to be by myself.
    On her way out, she stopped in the kitchen to talk to my