You'll Like My Mother Page #3

I'm afraid my imaginative son

had a tendency to exaggerate.

Kenny did turn out to be

something of a problem, though.

Of course, I haven't seen

or heard of him in years.

Get some rest now.

I'll call you at dinner.

Kathleen?

Do you want to come in?

It's okay.

Come on.

Do you know who I am?

I'm Matthew's wife.

Your brother's wife?

That's right.

Kathleen, come here, please.

It's all right.

It's all right.

Look, it's... it's just some glass

and it's just some perfume.

Look, I'll tell her I did it, okay?

It'll be our secret.

Kathleen, I am calling you!

You'd better go.

I did it and I'll clean it up.

Go on.

This is really more of a museum

than anything else.

Full of the relics

of the great Kinsolving past.

There are sleighs and carriages

in the coach house

that date back

to the turn of the century.

The house is 67 years old.

Matthew's grandfather built it

when there was still a family fortune.

The house is just about

all that's left.

And it's not of much value anymore,

on the edge of a dying town.

You don't have to give me

a financial report, Mrs. Kinsolving.

I'm not interested

in Matthew's estate.

Matthew had no estate.

Whatever there is is mine.

Look, it's getting late.

Don't you think

we should get started?

Are you sure you've had enough?

More than enough.

Good.

Kathleen, get our guest's things,

please, dear.

And bring my furs.

And now I shall tell you

why you will not come here

ever again, Francesca.

You met and married my son

in less than a month's time.

Well, you wrote me that yourself.

And you spent that last leave

with him,

the last two weeks of his life

that he might have spent with me,

would have spent with me,

as he did every leave,

every furlough, every moment off.

You robbed me of what was

the rest of his life,

and I'll never forgive you for that.

I'll never acknowledge you

as Matthew's wife,

and I'll never accept your child

as his.

If indeed it is.

I have only your word for that.

You know, in those last two weeks,

Matthew must've told me

a hundred times,

"You'll like my mother."

But I realize now

he never did tell me why.

Excuse me.

Kathleen, mother's going to take

our guest to the bus now.

Do try and clear the table

with as little breakage as possible,

will you, dear?

I'll go out and warm up the car.

You stay inside till I honk the horn.

No sense both of us

freezing to death.

Kathleen.

Thank you.

She probably sweeps

under the rug, too.

This desk was piled a foot high

this afternoon.

It won't start.

Couldn't we call a garage

and get someone over here to fix it?

No, the phone's been disconnected.

I scarcely hear even

with this contraption,

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