THE RANCH, THE RANCH!
It can’t be. No, there’s no way that it’s the same place. It can’t be the same as the one in the photos!
Images are filling my head of the albums, of sitting on the bed in the spare room. Pictures of women in white and men in suits, photos of children. FUCK!
It can’t be the same place. Liam would have said something if he knew me, my family, like that. He wouldn’t keep something like that from me. Would he?
I try to remember my time with Liam, our conversations on his life, his family, his Irish family. That thought alone triggering me to recall the script written after almost every group photo, Féile an Mhad. or something. Turning to face Erin, I ask, biting into my bottom lip, "Do you have your phone with you? I don't know where mine is?"