There was a frame-size rectangle of darker-colored paint where mine had hung. Not that I had to wonder where it had gone. I’d found it earlier today in one of the boxes Willow had salvaged from my exorcism, along with my baby box, where Mom had kept my first lock of hair, tooth, all that stuff.

Willow, who’d never broken a damned rule in her life unless I’d been the one pushing her, had rescued my childhood from destruction. A little spark of…whatever lit in my chest with that thought, and I quickly shut it down and shoved it as far away from me as possible. Willow was so untouchable that she didn’t even go on the untouchable list. She went on the unthinkable one.

And yet, here I was…thinking.

“Well, are you coming?” Dorothy asked from the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am.” I glanced down the hall to the living room, where I heard Walter’s boisterous laugh, then made my way into the kitchen.

Mom’s cherry cabinets were faded in places from sunlight, and the apple wallpaper she’d hung peeled at the corners, but other than that, it looked exactly the same.

“Coffee?” Dorothy offered, motioning to a steaming pot under the ancient coffeemaker.

“No, thank you.” I pulled out the chair closest to the wall and sat at the table.

“Suit yourself.” She poured herself a cup and sat down across from me. “What happened out there with your father—and his gun—was unfortunate.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I set my notebook on the table, covering the unfinished splotch on the wood where I’d spilled Mom’s nail polish remover twenty years ago.

“I would say that I’m sorry, but if I apologized for every inappropriate thing your father did or said, I’d never shut up.” She shrugged, then sipped.

My lips turned up at the corners. “You’re funnier than I remember.”

“I’ve always been this funny. You were never mature enough to appreciate it.”

“I wasn’t mature enough to appreciate a lot of things.” The admission was easy because I’d never hurt her with my actions. The chances of me saying that to Dad? To Xander? To Willow? I wasn’t quite that mature yet.

Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. “And now you’re home to help.”

“I am.”

She nodded slowly, assessing me in a way that made me take my elbows off the table. “Okay, then.”

Tension unraveled in my chest, easing a burden I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

“Tell me what he needs.” I clicked the pen and opened the notebook to a fresh page. “What I can do and what he won’t let me do.”

Dorothy smiled and began.