Time to Move on

Copyright ©2026 Jessica T McCullough

All rights reserved. No portion of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other - except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the author.  

This story is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

**This story deals with a car accident**

The impact to the windshield sent unimaginable fear through Clara’s body. She froze for a fraction of a moment till her logical brain kicked in. She’d always been good at that; compartmentalizing raw emotion for later analysis, allowing her to focus on what needed to be done. Shame later typically never came and the emotions were left unprocessed. But that was future Clara’s problem. Right now she managed to slam her brakes, followed by a quick pull over to the side of the road when she saw no oncoming traffic. A natural blessing that came at two in the morning on a poorly lit country road.  

It was then, when the car was in park and she was no longer an obstruction to traffic, that she felt anything beyond duty. Her hands had gone numb with clenching at 10 and 2. Her heart was an uneven base in her chest. Was it going to break a rib? Could your heart do that? And breathing? When was the last breath she took? Your brain needs oxygen to function and she was still conscious so she had been breathing. Although now she took a long, deep, wrenching drag of air in. Clara’s lungs screamed with pained relief. Then she hicupped. Terribly unexpected, but none the less a good break of the silence.  

What had happened? Clara was not asleep. She’d been on the road since 10pm. She slept till 6pm. She was wide awake and well fed. Her high beams had been on and she had seen nothing but open roads as she drove. But the sunken spiderweb that was now her windshield said that hadn’t been the case. Whatever she’d hit had been large. A deer most likely in the back roads of South Carolina during rutting season. But she’d have seen a deer. They are nothing if not large.  

Clara knew there was only one way to find out if it had been a deer. Or, something else.  

Clara allowed herself a deep breath and the count of three before she got out of the car. She refused to look at the road behind her car yet. Instead, she secured her phone in her pocket, and rifled through the tote in her trunk that was full of emergency equipment. She grabbed a road flare and flash light and then allowed her eyes to rise. Then she immediately dropped it all to throw up in the ditch by the side of the road. When she’d finished gagging the last few retching movements of her abdomen she headed to the crumpled bicycle and the broken body lying on the asphalt.  

Oh my God! Oh my God! It was all she could think as she approached the body. The right leg bent at an unnatural angle, up and behind the back. There was cheek length, blonde hair, wavy and now stained with blood, strewn across the face, arms thrown wide. Clara took in the plaid button down, open to reveal a white t-shirt with a large sunflower on it. Clara recognized it as an old Tom Petty shirt. Her mom had had a similar one. The jeans were belted, now pulled low on the waist. She stepped around, looking for a face and finding the closed eyes of a young boy, no more than 15. Shit, she’d hit a kid.  

She leaned close, looking for a rise of the chest, but her hands were shaking so badly the flashlight beam bounced. Was it breath or the movement of the light? Then suddenly, the eyes opened. Clara screamed, falling backward onto her behind. She quickly crawled forward. He was alive. For now at least.  

She pulled the phone quickly from her pocket. No signal. She tried the emergency button. If she could send out an SOS someone would find them! But it didn’t work. Where was the nearest town?!  

A low groan caught her attention. Her eyes were back on the boy. “I’m so sorry!” Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and choking. “I didn’t see you!”  

“Figured as much.” He managed a laugh that caught on a cough, blood bubbled at his mouth.  

“Fuck. I need to get you help. But I can’t get a signal. I need to go find someone who can call for help.” Clara quickly jumped up, not hearing the boy as he began to talk. She lit the flare, leaving it a safe distance from him and ran to her car, returning with a blanket. As she laid it across him she realized he was speaking.

“Not going to make it. Not long. I know that. Please, don’t leave me.” She’d abandoned the flashlight by his side and it now lit up his right side. His eyes were green. They were bright, wide, terrified, in pain. As she watched his labored breathing she knew he was right. She saw the way his ribs were caved in on the right. The blood that was staining the petals on the sunflower. Minutes at most. Was she going to drive on for minutes or hours before she found someone and let him die alone?  

Clara sat cross legged, doing her best to position herself where he could see her without moving much. “What can I do for you?”

“Would you hold my hand? I know it sounds like I’m a baby, but I’d like that.”

She shook her head. “Not a baby thing. I’d like to hold your hand.” She delicately took his fingers in hers.  

“Are you holding it?”  

She choked on a sob. He couldn’t feel her. “Yes. I have your hand.” She gingerly pulled hair from his eyes.

“You're pretty.” He smiled. Even with his busted lips and blood smeared on his teeth, the boy’s smile was handsome and sincere.  

Clara laughed despite the sob she was swallowing down. “Thank you, but I think I’m a bit too old for you.”  

“I guess you’re right. Can’t fault a guy for trying.” He laughed again, a wet cough following.  

Her first instinct was to tell him to be quiet, but what for? Let the boy say what he needed to.  

“Just so you know, the nearest town is a good 20 minute drive. By the time you got half that distance I’d be dead. So please, no worries.”

Clara’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “No worries?! I ran you over and killed you but no worries?! And how do you know you’d be dead by then?”

“I just know. Got about 5, 6 minutes left in me, so gotta make the most of it. You married?”

“Married? No. No, I’m not married.”

He gave her a penetrating look. “Why not? I mean, we’ve established your pretty. No guy caught your eye?”

Clara was a very private person. Not one to share anything really, but the boy was dying. It felt wrong to deny him anything. Even personal business.  

“I was with someone. Up till recently, actually.” Up till about 6 hours ago, she thought. “He proposed.”  

“Woah. And you said no?”

“I didn’t say anything. He told me to think about it.”

He furrowed his brow. “Was he bad?”

Clara smiled to herself. “No. He was, is, wonderful. It’s just, I’m not.”

“What’s his name?” The boy asked, and suddenly Clara realized she didn’t know his.

“Ryan. But how rude of me! What’s your name?”

He smiled again, but this time it was smaller. Weaker. “Joshua. My dad calls me Joshi Josh. You can call me that too if you like.”

She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to call him anything. But she’d do it, for him.

“Why aren’t you wonderful?” Joshua continued.

Clara rubbed her hand across her eyes, quickly wiping away the bitter tears now falling freely down her cheeks. “Seroiusly?”

“What’s your name?” He asked quietly.

“Clara.” She said it low, hating the sound of it.

“That’s pretty too. Clara, you are wonderful. You’re here holding a boy's hand while he dies in the road. You could’ve just driven on.”

“Only a monster would,”

“Exactly. And you’re not a monster. You’re not some drunk who lost control and then drove off. You’re a kind woman who is ensuring I don’t die alone. You deserve a good man. Ryan sees you for what you truly are. Don’t leave him. Don’t tell him he’s wrong.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and Clara panicked.  

“Joshua! Joshie Josh!”

“I’m still here Clara. There are things I won’t get to say. I know that. But I think the only one I’ll really mourn is not being able to tell my dad that I’m sorry. You see, I was supposed to have gone fishing with him today. Then we were going to go and barbecue what we caught. You see, my mom’s gone now. Six years. And I’m all dad has. He’s a bit too protective sometimes.  

I just wanted to be free a bit. My buddy got some tickets to Tom Petty. Went to the show but told him I was working. Was just riding home now. I wish I could tell him that no show would replace any time I spent him. I know that now. And I’d tell him it’s not his fault this happened. And I’d tell him I love him.

So go back to Ryan, Clara. Don’t let fear waste your time.” 

Clara nodded. It was all she could do. Joshua went quiet. She just held his hand till his chest stopped rising. 

Clara placed several road flares near Joshua’s body and headed to the nearest town. Every building was dark and quiet. All but the police station. She pulled her car up to the front of the building and got out. When she entered, the building was quiet. A small woman in her fifties, with wild, greying hair sat at the front desk, watching a small black and white television. She glanced at Clara and threw out over the television, “What can we do you for?”

“I hit a boy on the road with my car. He died. I’m here to turn myself in and lead you to his body.”

The woman’s face didn’t change. She still looked at Clara as she called over her shoulder, “Robby, got somebody here to see you.”

A tall man of roughly 6 feet came out from the back. He wore a uniform, and a badge that read ‘Captain’. Clara didn’t linger on it long enough to read a name beyond the title. His hair was sandy blonde, his skin leathery in a way that showed wear from the sun and weather. Clara placed him in his mid 60’s.  

“What’s up, Nadine?” He stood, quiet and slow as the woman at the counter. Clara could feel him taking her in.

“Says she hit a kid on the road and he’s dead. Turning herself in.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but was gone so fast Clara questioned if she’d seen it at all.

“Where?” Was all he said. 

“About 20 minutes drive, back on this main road into town.”

“Show me.”

The Captain headed straight to his police car, placing Clara in the backseat. She was grateful not to have to get back into her own car. She didn’t even glance at it.

The Captain drove in silence till he came upon her flares in the road. He pulled over and opened her door. 

“Just so you know, I don’t take kindly to jokes of this nature.”

Clara looked at him in confusion. She quickly came around the car to see the flares, blanket, and no body. No bike.  

“I don’t understand. I hit a boy on a bike! I didn’t even see him in the road! I held his hand right here! He told me he’d gone to a Tom Petty concert and was heading home to his dad! Joshie Josh was right here!”

“What did you say?” The Captain’s voice was a low growl.  

Clara obediently repeated, “I said the boy,” but was cut off.  

“What did you call him?”

“Joshua, Joshie Josh.”

The Captain’s legs gave way and he sank to the ground. Clara was in a panic. There was no compartmentalizing anything at this moment.  

“My son’s name was Joshua. I called him Joshie Josh. I was the only one.”

Clara found herself looking from the blanket, to the Captain and back again. 

“What else did he say?” The man asked breathlessly.  

Clara took a deep inhale and forced the words out, even though they didn’t feel real. “He said his mom had died about 6 years before. He said he wanted a bit of freedom and was supposed to go fishing with his dad, but chose the concert.” She took a moment, looking as the Captain's face crumpled. “He said he wished he could’ve told his dad that no concert could replace time with him. That he loved him and that this was not his fault.”

Clara hadn’t seen a grown man cry in quite some time and at first she didn’t know how to handle it when the captain began to sob. Heaving, hoarse sobs that tore through his chest. She watched as his hands covered his face and his shoulders shook. She sat down and let him cry.   

When he was finally able to speak he looked at her. “My boy was struck down by a drunk driver 16 years ago on this very road. He was coming home from a Tom Petty concert. Something with a wildflower on the album I think. The piece of shit hit him and ran. We never caught him. My boy died alone on this road. But not tonight. Tonight you held his hand.”

Captain Robby drove Clara back to the station and her car.  

“What made you think you’d hit something? This thing is pristine.” He said as he surveyed the windshield, now smooth and intact. Clara simply shook her head. There were no words that could explain tonight.  

“Where are you off too now, Clara? Home?”

She climbed into her car, pausing to look at the father who now had a little closure. “Sort of. There’s a man whose ring I think I need to wear.”