We've Still Got Time

Chapter Two: Something New

[Author's Note: Long update yay! I hope you're liking the story so far! -xo Shan]

I told Laura what I saw as soon as I got out of the boy's room. Her eyes widened with disbelief and joy. I was left standing in front of the window, looking at the boy sleeping inside, and still kind of hoping that his fingers would move again. But they never did. He never did.

Doctors immediately rushed past me as soon as Laura reported what I saw. They started checking the monitors beside him, his blood pressure; everything.

But he never moved an inch again.

"What exactly happened in there?" Laura asked, still looking astounded.

I shrugged, "Nothing. I just told him the things I wanted to tell Dad."

I continued looking at him. Again, he looked peaceful. Angelic almost.

He's something.

*

A small funeral service was held for Dad three days after he died.

A few of his co-workers from the newspaper came; even my friends Lizzie, James and Janice. A lot were crying, except from me. Maybe my eyes already got tired from crying because I've been crying for three straight days; and maybe because there are a lot of people looking at me, expecting me to breakdown or something.

After the service, strangers started shaking my hand and hugging me and wishing me well.

Laura came too, and I can't help but ask her, "How's he?"

"Who?" she asked, clueless.

I put my index finger up, mimicking what John Doe did a few days ago.

Laura's mouth turned into a big O. "He's fine," she can't help but smile. "Even better, I guess. Do you know that the doctors could've given up on him if he hadn't responded a few days ago? But he did. And it's probably because of you."

I winced, "It's probably because of muscle contractions, or something."

Laura giggled, "No. It's a miracle. You're his miracle."

I flinched at the thought. But the boy's face flashed at the back of my head; and part of me is a bit relieved that he's getting better.

Before I could say another word, another stranger shook my hand. I gave Laura a knowing look.

She nodded once, smiled at me then turned around to talk to Uncle Charlie and Dave.

*

"Isabella," Uncle Charlie started.

He, Dave and I are sitting at our little round mahogany dining table that Great Grand Dad carved and built himself. It's been a week since Dad's funeral service and the two of them are heading back to San Francisco tomorrow.

"So Dave and I were thinking," Uncle Charlie started, his hands crossed in front of him. He looked at Dave first, then at me before speaking again, "As your Godfather, since your Dad's already gone, living you all alone here at New York..." he took a deep breath and said, "I want you to live with us at San Francisco."

"What?" I almost stood up from where I'm sitting, but Dave held my hand. "No, I'm completely fine here," I assured the two of them.

I looked around at our old cluttered three storey brick house that Dad has inherited from Great Grand Dad August. Outside, it almost looked like the same rectangle brownstones you see at Brooklyn. But this place has always been so special. Even if it's old and rickety and smells like coffee and old wood combined, I love this house. I always have. I was literally born here and a lot of happy memories happened at this place (well, post-Mom).