Papa Jones had not always had a big heart. Now that he did, he had no doubt that his daughter, Sally Francis Jones, would run around telling their neighbors and her girlfriends about the luxury suite he would be staying at the St. Clare Hospital for Elders. It was the very first thing Papa Jones could think of when Doctor North broke the news to him, after his health report was retrieved from a pile of medical waste due to a human error. Which was safe to say that the recently hired nurse, Gwen Tracy, would not outlast the previous two nurses in St. Clare. Talk about longevity in an elderly hospital.
For a brief moment, Papa Jones could hear nothing Doctor North was saying to him, as he began to remember Sally Francis Jones' red cheeks under the summer sun, and Sally Francis Jones' soft, long blonde hairs in the candle light. He did not, for one second, think of his two late wives, but the daughter of his mistress.
Sally Francis Jones is a miracle.
When Sally Francis Jones first came into Papa Jones' then hairy arms, she giggled melody of dreams in nights, and sobbed tunes of nightmares during days. It was horrible. So horrible that Papa Jones had to hire a professional to take care of her, immediately after the Agency for Nannies had opened in the morning. It was there when Papa Jones felt his inner peace had returned, that his ears no longer chant the acoustic Soviet Union national anthem.
That was almost six years ago. Today, Sally Francis Jones is not an infant that sucks milk from a plastic bottle anymore. She's grown up into a little miss, and has a bedroom to herself.
"How much time do I have left, Doctor North, Conservatively?" Papa Jones coughed, "Look at me. Do not lie to an old man."
Doctor North didn't look directly into Papa Jones' grey eyes, instead he raised his left hand and showed two fingers.
"Two years? That's not bad news at all. That's fantastic. Maybe I'll still be walking after two years," Papa Jones smiled. "Who knows?"
Papa Jones was about to stand up and give Doctor North a handshake when the opposite head shook lightly.
"Two months then? That's plenty of time for a pre-funeral memorial. I'd like to hear what people have to say about me. After all, I'd be too dead to hear," Papa Jones cracked into a laughter and his face flared up in flame.
"You don't have two years or two months. You have two days. After that, you'll probably, you know," Doctor North said, staring at the report.
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