I drove my rig onto the ferry at dawn. The plant cutting sat in a cup of water on the dashboard. I snapped it from the jade plant in my mother's kitchen the day we sold the house.
Hospital parking cost eight dollars for the first hour. The validation ticket stuck to my sleeve. My youngest had a fever that wouldn't break.
In the waiting room, a boy in a blue vest stood by the vending machine. His name tag said 'Trainee.' First day. He stared at the machine like it was a puzzle.
I remembered my first day behind a wheel. Eighteen wheels and I didn't know how to back up. Someone showed me. Pay it forward.
When the doctor came out, she said my daughter would be fine. Just a virus. Keep her hydrated.
I gave the boy the plant cutting. 'Keep it alive,' I said. 'It's good at coming back.'
The validation ticket had expired by twenty minutes. The parking attendant waved me through. 'Don't worry about it, dad.' He recognized my trucker hat.
I drove back to the ferry. The jade plant was already putting out roots in the cup. Second chances come in small cups.