INT. DINING ROOM/KITCHEN - SUNSET
Quaint and cozy. Calendar on refrigerator turned to August; the accompanying photograph captures a fly-fisherman mid-cast, knee-deep in waders in a mountain stream. Wanda, in jeans and Cheyenne Frontier Days tee, reading glasses, sits atb the table facing the window to the modest back yard and umbrella over a small table and two chairs in the middle of it. The sun sets on the cedar fence. Wanda turns a page of James Michener's Hawaii, her phone near a glass of milk. She smiles when the PHONE RINGTONES an instrumental version of the Townes Van Zandt song, If I Needed You. She lets it play, picks up.
WANDA: Hey there.
At the table with Michener. You in your room?
Raining yet?
INT. MOTEL ROOM - SUNSET
Basic room. Tom stands at the window aimed at monsoon clouds above the Albuquerque skyline, obscuring the Sandia Mountains. His shirt is unbuttoned and his boot are off. Suitcase on bed, hat on rack near door.
TOM: What'sat, sweetheart?
No, not yet but the monsoon clouds are gatherin'. I reckon it's time I get goin' on that hearin' aid?
Come again, hon'?
I seen a Chinese place down the street, fella at the front desk says they deliver, so I'll probly do that. Was lookin' forward to the book but I guess I left it on the nightstand.
I miss you too, angel.
Sunrise, I'll call when I'm leavin'.
Love you too, Wanda Pearl.
Sweet dreams.
(RAINDROPS TAP THE WINDOW. Tom speaks into phone.)
Ruthie.
Hey sis, in my room. Bout to run a bath, I'll call back. Love ya.
He sets phone on desk, leaves into bathroom. We hear the BATH STARTED. FAINT THUNDER, RAIN HARDER.
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