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d to stay close to us, and we indulged that.”
“He’d had treatment for depression,” Eve added.
“Yes, he had.” Resentment shimmered again as she looked back at Eve. “What of it? It’s not a crime. Monty was an internal sort, more introverted than either Nash or I. When we were old enough to go on missions, or to seek more education, and our mother died, he became lonely and depressed. And help was sought and provided.”
“Introverted. So not much for interaction with the residents and staff, when he joined you at The Sanctuary.”
“As I said, when our father was called to mission, we took Monty with us, helped give him a purpose. He was somewhat shy, but enjoyed the children. In some ways, he was one of them. The Sanctuary was his home, too.”
“How did he feel about losing it?”
“It was difficult for him, frankly. It was his first place outside the parental home, one he considered his own—as we all did. He was, we all were, understandably upset. Failure is never easy to accept. But that failure opened a new door.”
“And right after you walked through the new door, you sent him to Africa. This shy, introverted younger brother.”
“The opportunity came. We felt Monty needed to expand his world. To, well, leave the nest. It was hard for me, to be honest, but it was a chance for him. A door for him.”
“Who arranged it?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, ‘arranged.’ The missionary in Zimbabwe wanted to retire, to come home to his family. It was a chance for Monty to see some of the world, as both Nash and I had, and to see if he had a calling after all.”
“How’d he like it?”
“His e-mails were happy. He seemed to fall in love with Africa at first sight. I believe if he hadn’t been taken from us, he would have bloomed there. He’d found his place, and a calling I’d doubted. The condolences after his death spoke of his kindness, his compassion, his . . . joy. It’s both painful and freeing to know he’d found his joy before leaving us.”
“How often did you talk to him?”
“Talk? We didn’t. When first embarking on a mission, especially the very first on your own, it’s too easy to cling to home, to family or friends. For the first few months, it’s best to keep that contact somewhat limited so you can focus on the mission, consider that your home, your family. And serve them with a full heart.”
“Huh. Sounds like boot camp.”
She relaxed enough to smile a little. “I suppose it does, in a way.”
“How about him and Shelby? How did they get along?”
“Get along?”
“You said he was like one of the kids.”
“Yes, I just meant he was younger than Nash and myself, and younger in, well, spirit.”
“How did he get along with them, Shelby in particular?”
“He was particularly shy around girls, but he got along well enough. I’d say he might’ve been a bit intimidated by Shelby. She was a big, and sometimes abrasive, personality.”
“And with him being shy, and the little brother of the heads? I bet she took a few pokes at him. One way to get back at you, say, if you disciplined her or denied her, would be to poke at the most vulnerable.”
“She could be a bully, that’s true enough. Monty tended to give her a wide berth. He was more comfortable with the quieter residents. He did talk sports with T-Bone.” She smiled as she caught that flutter of memory. “I’d forgotten that. Monty loved sports, any kind at all. He and T-Bone would talk football, or baseball. Reeling off all those stats . . . I can’t understand how they remembered when they barely remembered to empty the recycler.”
“So he interacted regularly with one of Shelby’s crew.”
“He was more comfortable and confident around boys, men.”
“So no girlfriends?”
“No.”
“Boyfriends?”
