Fanny: "I take my spirituality very seriously. If I don't see it with my own eyes, I don't believe it."
And as if to prove her point, Fanny very pointedly starts lavishing Truly with sympathy and love and comfort and tenderness. It's hard, I would think, to feel anything other than slighted, even in the middle of being unable -- not permitted, at least -- to feel anything at all. But this is Fanny at her most vitriolic, and she makes it count:
"Don't be sorry, you loved him. You two were magic together. Soulmates. Just be happy you found each other. And know that no matter what happened between the two of you, he loved you with all his heart. True love never dies. It just takes a break for a while."
Hubbell would make pies, and Truly would eat them. Of course he would, and of course eating them was as much for his pleasure as for hers. We know enough about Hubbell to know that. Given enough context, we could have learned to love him for it, I suppose. I suppose given enough context his aggressive obsequy and tireless service might have come to be charming, rather than controlling and creepy. With time, he would have shown us more, given us -- given Michelle -- something more than the endless needy suffocation of his love. But now he's dead. You can't get less suffocating than that.
That's a thing too that Michelle hasn't figured out yet: That grieving is always in part about finding a little hard pebble of relief, down in the shadowy resentful parts, and wondering, "How did that get there?" Hating yourself, and it, so much for not vanishing when he did. She was always to blame for her current predicament; her last predicament even moreso. But now she's stranded in the unexpected life, and everywhere she looks there are dangers. He's the one that built the clean white room, that showed her the balcony, that stood up to his mother and the whole town, to protect her long enough for her to figure out what she wanted. He made promises, and she was stupid enough to half-believe them, and now he's gone. Not just leaving them unfulfilled, but making them a mockery.
I danced with you, you bitch. That's what I'd be thinking.
Truly: "I thought we would get married. I just wanted to call you Mom."
Fanny folds her up tight in her arms, holding her close. Enough force behind her words and her eyes to push Michelle out the door and through the garden and onto the lane. Like the wind sweeping away all the other nannies that day Mary Poppins showed up: