Chapter 5: Who is the Overseer?

“Very few of us are what we seem to be.”

— Tommy Beresford, in Partners in Crime: A Tommy and Tuppence Adventure, by Agatha Christie. Originally published in the United Kingdom by William Collins, Sons in 1929. Public domain in the United States; copyright status varies internationally.

Ashley Trent’s living room looked as though it had been lifted straight from an old pre-war catalogue, which was just how the boring married women of Vault 615 liked it. Kathryn did not mean to judge, but they had all fallen into domestic life so quickly and easily.

The soft yellow glow of standing lamps reflected against polished wood furniture and floral wallpaper. How like Ashley to have such simple designs for her home.

Kathryn was not meaning to be judgmental, but her mind was on Leo, the books, and the loss of her future family with Keith; for that matter, she was also upset with Keith. She saw him so little that she worried that they were becoming husband and wife in name only.

There was a glass bowl filled with wrapped peppermints sat at the center of the card table beside a silver ashtray none of the women actually used.

Appearances were important to others, Kathryn was noticing.

Some of the words Leo said were sticking in her mind. Work and honesty and having to fight to protect what was built. Kathryn wanted to keep some parts of her old life, same as the women before her.

The six women sat arranged around the circular table in pairs. Ashley Trent was blonde haired, blue-eyed, and sharp-faced. She sat across from Kathryn with an increasingly irritated smile frozen onto her lips.

Kathryn made sure not to bring up Ashley’s husband or his indiscretion because that would certainly create a division greater than Kathryn beating others at bridge.

Beside Ashley sat Patricia Collins, a narrow woman with auburn-red curls and freckles on her face. Trish had a habit of tapping her nails impatiently against the tabletop when she did not have the cards she wanted or someone was doing much better than her, as Kathryn was doing at the moment.

On Kathryn’s right sat Eleanor Whitaker. Ellie was a traditional brunette wife who modeled herself after the late Jackie Kennedy. She had pearls around her neck. The jewelry had a habit of clicking softly whenever she sighed too hard; furthermore, Ellie had the bad custom of touching her accessory nervously, which worked as a tell sometimes.

Beside Eleanor was June Henderson, a soft-spoken brunette who looked permanently exhausted.

Finally, Miriam Foster sat nearest to the kitchen counter. She was a blonde-haired woman who was far more prim and proper than her appearance hinted at. Mrs. Foster was absently stirring the ice in her untouched drink while she watched Kathryn with visible suspicion.

Kathryn laid another card down calmly. When dealing with something much more important, she became exceptionally good at unimportant tasks, such as games. When she was motivated, she could play quite well, but when apathy overtook her, Kathryn was gifted with a certain perspective that allowed her to make brilliant moved.

“Three, no trump,” she said.

Ashley groaned immediately. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Patricia threw her cards face-down onto the table. “You’ve won four hands in a row now.”

“That’s because Mrs. Walker counts cards like a card shark,” Eleanor muttered.

“It isn’t counting cards,” Kathryn replied with a faint smile. “It’s just remembering what you’ve already played.”

“That sounds exactly like counting cards,” Miriam said.

“No! The truth is,” Ashley said, “Kathryn just has the best luck. It’s grossly unfair. I remember when she was a B cup before her oldest daughter, but then, she gets pregnant, and she gets double Ds. She breastfeeds and gets pregnant again, and do her tits shrink? No! They get bigger and look nicer than mine.”

Kathryn laughed.

“That’s just good genetics.”

June laughed softly under her breath while Ashley gathered the tricks into a neat pile with more force than necessary.

“Speaking of good genetics,” Miriam said. “Did anyone else hear the news about that Grecian prince?”

Kathryn smiled politely and reached for her coffee.

“No. I was too busy lamenting the fact that I can’t have kids with my husband. Bigger fish and all that.”

The women around the table exchanged glances while Ashley reshuffled the deck with the quick, practiced motions. No amount of cryogenic freezing could change that about her.

Eleanor piped up.

“Oh honey. We all have that problem. Most of the husbands can’t seem to get their wives pregnant. Is it fair? No. But we have to work with what we have. It’s kind of past the end of the world.”