You untie my wrist from the hand-hold when it's time to lie down in the bunk. The knife was serrated. I cut my left thumb slicing onions. It soaked red through the paper towels. The Pollard Flat's store in the truck stop is already closed. We heat water in the electric pot until uncomfortably warm. You step down out of the truck while I hand the pot out the door. I grab the steering wheel with my right hand and hop down. This is a dirt parking lot but even so trucks will always try to line up. We pulled in late so we're on the outside in the dark, face up to the pines. As you pour water over my thumb I listen for the Sacramento River down below. I can not hear it. Sky is murky with clouds. Back in the truck I wrap my thumb in paper towels and pull duct tape tight against it. With it tied up to the hand-hold the bleeding will stop. Later when you go to untie my wrist I see the slightest flinch of hesitation.
In the morning we will walk down the steep one lane road to where the railroad tracks cross the river before we drive across Lake Shasta.
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