INT. KITCHEN — LATE EVENING

The kitchen looks worn. In the middle is a walnut table whose legs are slightly loose. There are four dark blue chairs around it made of painted wood, the varnish peeling off in sheets. In the middle of the table is a bowl filled with newly washed potatoes, beads of water sitting on the still dirty skin. Above the stove is a clock, its black hands slowly moving around the surface. There is the sound of a toilet flushing, and a faucet running. We hear a door open.

John enters the kitchen and sits down with his back to us. He is a middle-aged man with messy auburn hair that is starting to grey in the back. He is wearing an oversized flannel shirt, and dark grey sweatpants. He is clean shaven, and we can see the ghost of a sunburn across his nose. His feet are bare. He gets up and opens a drawer next to the oven. He rustles around for a moment and pulls out a metal potato peeler. He walks over to the cabinet above the sink and pulls out a large ceramic bowl. He sits back down. John sighs, and starts peeling the potatoes, looking at the clock now and again. It is 10:32 p.m. The room is silent, except for the sound of the potato peeler.

The light fades out.

INT. KITCHEN — A WHILE LATER

The light fades in. We hear the sound of the front door opening, and keys being put down on a table. John blinks, and rubs his eyes. He has fallen asleep. He looks at the clock; it is 2:23 a.m.

He stares bewildered at the potatoes scattered across the table, registering finally that he must have knocked them over while he was sleeping.

William walks into the kitchen. He is wearing a camel brown trench coat and a pair of lightly scuffed sneakers. His hair is dirty blonde, his eyes an off-putting shade of grey. He has dark shadows under his eyes. John is putting the potatoes back into the bowl when William walks in. John freezes, his shoulders tense, and he pastes on a strained smile.

JOHN. Take off your shoes. I just cleaned the floor.

William makes no move to take off his sneakers. He walks over to the cabinet, pulls out a cup, and fills it up with tap water. John slowly stands up.

JOHN. How was your night?

William’s eyes darken.

WILLIAM. Good . . . I met David . . .

JOHN. What . . .

John looks startled and confused.

JOHN. Where...? Why...? How... How is he?

WILLIAM. Fine. William takes a dramatic sip of water. He is married and lives in Tampa. He has three kids and a border collie, he lives by the beach. He was at a —

JOHN. Did I ask?

William throws his cup into the sink. A tense silence ensues.

WILLIAM. What are you making?

JOHN. Why would you care? You won’t be here to eat it anyway.

John walks around the table. I’m going to bed.

William opens the dishwasher and starts to unload it.

JOHN. Good night . . . William.

John leaves the kitchen and stomps upstairs. William picks up a plate, holds it for a moment — staring at his reflection in the surface. He puts it in the cabinet with a sigh, and shuts the still full dishwasher’s door.

INT. LIVING ROOM — EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

The light is just starting to flow in through the large front windows, casting shadows on the walnut floor. In the corner of the room is a vase filled with leaves, looming ominously over an upright Steinway piano. The piano looks old, in contrast to the rest for the room. This room presents a different vibe than the unkempt kitchen. There is a sofa at the opposite end, sitting below a photo of a Richard Serra sculpture. The sofa is covered with pale cool grey fabric, the arms and legs slanting outwards. Facing the sofa, to the left of the piano is a bookcase. An old style radio sits on the middle shelf, a Rachmaninoff record leaned up against it. Next to the bookcase are two Mies van der Rohe chairs made of black soft leather. Between them is a marble coffee table. A white orchid sits on top of it. John walks in, he is wearing an oversized T-shirt, wrinkled pajama pants, and a pair of brown fuzzy socks. His hair is sticking up from his head. He rubs his eyes, and looks around the room. He walks out. John re-enters a moment later with a cup of coffee. He sits down at the piano and thumbs through the sheets of music sitting on top of it. He puts down his mug on the piano and picks up a pencil. John opens the piano and stares vacantly at the keys for a moment. He takes a sip of coffee, and pulls out an unfinished sheet of music. He erases a few notes, and starts playing a melody. The music sounds unfinished, with gaping holes in some places. John plays for a little while, stopping now and again to fix problems that he finds.

INT. KITCHEN — MID MORNING

William is putting the last few dishes away. John comes in and goes to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a box of smoked salmon. He pulls out a frying pan and a spatula. William sits down at the table with two plates. John scrambles four eggs in a bowl, and pours them into a pan. William gets up and goes over to a drawer, pulling out two forks and two knives. He sits back down. John places three slices of salmon on the omelette.

JOHN. Can you bring me the goat cheese?

William gets up, goes to the fridge and hands John the goat cheese. A moment later John brings a large omelette to the table. He gives William half, and slides the other half onto his own plate.

WILLIAM. I heard you playing earlier. It’s good to see you back at it. It’s been too long.

JOHN. Did you like it?

John gets up, coming back with the pepper.

WILLIAM. It sounded so. . . Angry? Is something wrong?

John starts grinding pepper onto his plate, missing the eggs.

WILLIAM. John?

John stops, and stares directly at him.

JOHN. I was thinking earlier.

WILLIAM. About David?

A short pause, the air conditioner turns on.

WILLIAM. You have to let it go.

William puts his plate in the sink, and turns on the faucet.

INT. LIVING ROOM — THAT AFTERNOON

John is sitting at the piano. His shoulders are relaxed, and he is staring blankly at the wall. A Rachmaninoff piano concerto plays in the background, overlaid by the sound of a ticking clock. The front door opens and William walks in with a bag of groceries. He sets them down in the hallway, and slowly approaches John like an injured animal. With each step, the floorboards creak faintly.

WILLIAM. John, don’t be mad.

William steps a little closer to him. John stiffens, his back becoming straighter.

WILLIAM. John, when I saw your brother yesterday, he was in an antique shop.

John’s hands clench into fists.

WILLIAM. David was selling your mother's watch.

A single tear slips from John’s left eye.

JOHN (getting angry). It’s funny how you can fight over something for so long. And one day, he could just throw it all away. If he doesn't want it, he could give it to me. But no he can't, he has to sell it, because he never wants me to win—

WILLIAM. He needs the money.

John closes the lid of the piano.

WILLIAM. Everything isn’t going so well.

JOHN. Then why the hell did he come up here?

WILLIAM. He foreclosed on his house a few days ago. I think he was hoping you could help him. It’s just a watch anyway.

JOHN. It’s NOT just a watch.

WILLIAM. Your mother is dead, and her watch won’t bring her back.

John's hands relax back to his sides. William picks up a pencil, and scribbles on a scrap of paper.

WILLIAM. That's the number of where he’s staying. Think about it.

William picks up the bag of groceries from the front hall and goes into the kitchen. John stares at the piece of paper.

INT. LIVING ROOM — EARLY EVENING

The light is fading, barely hitting the windows. The street lamp outside turns on, casting an eerie golden glow. Dead leaves scatter the ground, like brown, curled up fists. The air is distinctly fall, but it is not yet cool enough to turn off the air conditioner. John is sitting on the couch intently reading War and Peace. A bitten apple sits on a plate to his left — a phone sits to his right. Next to the phone is the scrap of paper that William gave him. It looks crumpled. William walks in. He is wearing his trench coat.

WILLIAM. I’m going out.

There is silence, John turns the page.

WILLIAM. You sure you don’t want to come?

JOHN. Yes, I’m sure.

William walks towards the front door.

WILLIAM. See you later.

JOHN. Don’t get back too late.

William walks out, locking the door behind him. John reads for a moment longer, then he puts in a bookmark and closes his book. He stares off into space, his eyes going blank and cloudy. He picks up the scrap of paper, and dials the phone number.

JOHN. Hi . A pause. Is David there? Another pause. John starts tapping his feet. Thank you. When will he be back? Another pause. You don’t know . . . Thank you anyway.

John hangs up the phone, his hands are shaking.

INT. LIVING ROOM — LATE EVENING

The clock is ticking in the background. John is back to reading on the couch. We hear the front door unlock, and William walks in accompanied by the wind and a few leaves. John looks up.

JOHN. How was your night?

William takes off his shoes.

WILLIAM. Good, the movie was great.

JOHN. Of course it was.

John closes his book, stands up and stretches.

WILLIAM. You should come next time.

JOHN. Maybe I will...

WILLIAM. Did you do anything special?

JOHN. Nothing much... I tried calling David.

William looks pleasantly surprised.

WILLIAM. And . . . ?

JOHN. The people at the inn said that he wasn't there anymore.

William looks confused.

WILLIAM. I just saw him yesterday . . .

JOHN (not hearing William). I tried.

John buries himself in the couch. William walks over and hugs him.

INT. KITCHEN — EARLY MORNING

The phone rings, the sharp noise echoing through the otherwise quiet house. William stumbles down the stairs. He is wearing a red bathrobe, his hair is ruffled — sticking up in the front. He rubs his eyes, and stares at the phone. After a moment, he picks it up.

WILLIAM. Hi . . . Who is this?

William looks confused.

WILLIAM. Yes . . . What?

A silence ensues, the dog outside stops barking.

WILLIAM. What? Oh my . . .

He leans back on the counter.

WILLIAM. I just saw him . . . Are you sure?

We hear John walking down the stairs. William hangs up the phone. John enters.

JOHN. William . . . Is something wrong?

FIN