The Madison

Don't you ever fucking touch me!

Cade says we got a daughter

same age as yours.

Love to get them together.

That would be great.

Your options

are stay here with me or you figure out

- your life on your own. - I want out of this fucking car!

That sure is a permanent solution

to a temporary problem.

I'm not...

- Are you my friend? - Of course.

- Get on a plane. I need you. - I will be there

first thing in the morning.

What's your name?

Abby.

You're all right, Abby.

Oh, my God.

She may be the oldest,

but she's still my baby

and picking her up when she falls

is my job.

What?

- What? - Caddis are hatching.

- What, now? - Right now.

Let's go.

- Oh, sure, yeah. Okay. - Night owl gets the worm.

I need coffee.

We're not waiting for coffee.

Oh. Of course.

Thanks.

Yeah!

That'll do it. Mm.

- I'll meet you outside. - Okay.

Yeah.

- Ooh! - Yeah.

I got to say,

I like how you always point me to a good hole, Paul.

And somehow

always find yourself on a better one.

Strange how that happens, isn't it?

Yeah. I'm gonna find my own hole.

You do that, big brother.

Fish the middle.

It's night.

The trout aren't afraid of the eagles now.

They're in the middle.

Whoa!

There we go.

Paul.

- Oh... - Oh.

Hey!

Get out of my hole.

Do you know what today is?

Uh, knew what it was when you woke me up, but

got no clue now.

Is it today?

Is it tomorrow?

It's Melissa's birthday.

You know, sometimes, I... I-I worry.

About what?

About the day you wake up

and this seems normal, ordinary.

You find yourself, I don't know, maybe...

...lacking in purpose.

Been here 20 years and it hasn't felt ordinary yet.

Doesn't feel ordinary today.

Not sure why that would worry you.

The worry is what you do next.

So, you think me finding some woman to wipe my ass

throughout the twilight years is somehow a...

a deterrent to suicide?

Not when you say it like that.

You're the one person that's never asked me.

Don't change that today.

Okay.

Thank you.

Can I ask you why?

Because when I said

"till death do us part..."

...I meant my death.

You of all people should understand that.

Yeah, brother, that I understand.

I understood exactly.

Because I feel the same.

This is getting harder.

It's okay to drink water from the river?

- Yeah, we're boiling it, so... - Huh.

I don't think you can boil the bad out of the Hudson.

Oh, look at that.

It's just bubbling up right there.

How do you know when it's done?

I go by the color.

When it looks like espresso, I pull it.

And I thought I knew all there was to know

about making coffee.

Oh. Apparently the methods are endless.

"If no percolator or filter can be found,

boil water in a pot, then crack an egg--

shell and all-- into the water.

Add two teaspoons of coffee per cup.

Let sit about two minutes and stir.

The egg will adhere to the grounds.

You scoop it out.

Drink up."

What is that?

Preston's journal.

He started it when they bought the place.

Twenty years ago?

Mm. Longer.

"For the first time in my life...

...I own land.

Not a building or apartment. Land.

Unlike the other two,

which feel more akin to a gopher occupying a different hole,

I'm a steward now,

solely responsible for how much this land changes

or how much it stays the same.

Best I can hope

is be a benign nuisance to this place.

Man's goal in society is to be remembered.

In nature, it is to be forgotten,

unnoticed.

Leave as little proof I was here as I possibly can.

That will be my gift to this place."

Who wrote that?

Preston.

There's a man in here I barely knew, Lili.

And he begged me...

...to know him.

I remember one Thanksgiving.

I was back from college.

I was laid up on the sofa with a hangover.

And my father walked in and he asked me

if I wanted to go for a walk.

I said no.

And I never thought of it again until 30 years...

...later, and all of his children are racing to Boston,

trying to beat death to his bed and say goodbye.

And I asked him if he remembered inviting me to go on that walk.

And he nodded and he smiled.

And I asked him, "Do you remember

what you wanted to talk about?"

And he shook his head and he said,

"I didn't want to talk.

I just wanted to listen."

This is not cheering me up.

My point is,

he told you everything that he wanted you to know

while he was here.

If he had wanted you to know

what was in that book while he was alive...

...he would have told you.

He's telling you now

because now is when he wants you to know it.

How's this thing work?

Oh, it's deceptively simple.

You just pour.

Dare I ask for creamer?

No, you can ask.

- Thank you. - Mm-hmm.

All right, I am here to work.

I have been given a list of to-dos

from Preston's attorneys.

I'm only gonna ask this of you once,

and then we won't have to talk about it again.

The death certificate is in my purse.

So, the apartment and the house

in the Hamptons are in a trust.

- Mm-hmm. - Along with all

of his investments, his bank accounts--

everything.

You are executor and beneficiary until your death,

at which time the law firm will assume the role of executor

and the trust is divided equally between Abigail,

Bridgett, Macy, and Paige.

Okay.

The will does list burial instructions.

He wanted to be buried here.

There's a spot marked on a map.

I know the spot.

If I sell it...

...the new owners can exhume the bodies,

move them, cremate them--

whatever they choose.

Well, what if you...

...you exempt this part from sale?

Then what-- I fly back here once a year?

Sit here for an hour?

How many funerals have we been to?

Parents, grandparents, friends.

Have you ever been back to visit, once?

Okay, so keep it.

But keeping it doesn't require you to live here.

I...

Preston didn't live here.

Well, Preston didn't live here

because I refused to entertain the notion.

Because the notion isn't rational.

You think I'm using my logical mind to make this decision?