Other People's Baggage by Kendel Lynn, Gigi Pandian, Diane Vallere

toiletries?”
    The main door opened and two men with a large banner balanced between them struggled through. I rushed over to hold the door open while they wrestled the banner across the threshold.
    â€œSorry it took so long, Miss Rita, but we got it here before the Honeysuckle opens,” one of the men said. “Usually get these things turned around in a couple weeks, but we’ve been swamped.”
    â€œNo worries at all. Y’all did just fine,” Rita said as she signed the delivery slip.
    Two women came in and grabbed the boxes of decorations while a teenaged girl in short shorts started cleaning the desk.
    Rita talked to me over her shoulder. “Most of the stores closed, sugar. Town’s nearly shut down. Might be able to find something next door at the gift shop. Think Gilda’s got some adorable t-shirts. You need anything, anything at all, you just ask. Tell her I sent you,” she hollered as she scurried through the back door.

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    The sky was bluer than the Caribbean Sea and just as tranquil. The temperature had to be close to ninety-five and it wasn’t quite ten a.m. On the bright side, the humidity was low. A nice break from the thick air back in South Carolina. Several trees lined this end of the town square. Interestingly, they were all crepe myrtles with not a single oak among them.
    The town square was more of a town rectangle. The Little Oak Inn sat center between Little Oak Gifts and Little Oak Grill. Two rows of shops flanked each side of a long brick lane. Rita wasn’t exaggerating. Nearly every shop was empty. Their windows dusty from abandonment, small closed signs tilting sideways on the doors. I thought perhaps a tumbleweed might blow by except for the activity far down the road. Trucks and vans parked all along the curbs and men unloaded equipment, or perhaps pipes or building materials.
    When Zibby told me about this unique donation to the Ballantyne Foundation, I didn’t quite know what to think. She spoke of a town square bustling with shops and restaurants. With summer festivals and a thriving tourist trade. If anything, the profits would go straight to the Foundation where we would direct them into one of our many causes. She never mentioned a casino replacing the bustling boutiques. Perhaps a lease already in place?
    After two minutes in the sun, I popped into the gift shop for supplies and possibly a little scoop. With Rita busy, I needed someone to tell me what was going on.
    The bell tinkled as I walked in and a short round lady walked out of a backroom. Her frizzy blond hair probably hadn’t seen its natural color since she graduated high school sometime when Eisenhower was president.
    â€œHow you doing this delightful day?” she asked.
    â€œWell, I’m having a t-shirt emergency and I hear you’re the one to the rescue.”
    She glanced at the enormous red splotch that covered most of my upper half. “Sure, sugar, got a nice selection in our souvenir section.” She pointed me to an array brightly colored almost all cotton shirts.
    I mostly hid my blanch as I carefully picked through the round rack.
    â€œYou here for the Revival or the Rally?” she asked.
    â€œI’m actually here for the Cattle Baron’s Ball. Came in last night.”
    She sighed somewhat wistfully. “The Ball used to be the event of the season. Hard to believe this will be our last one. We’ve got so many things changing around Little Oak these days.”
    â€œAnd I’m another change, but a good one. I’m Elliott Lisbon with the Ballantyne Foundation. We inherited your town.”
    â€œWell, howdy-do. I was hoping to meet you today. We worried your flight might get turned around with the storms and you wouldn’t make it. I’m Gilda Hays.” She stretched out her hand to shake mine, enveloping it in both of hers, all soft and warm and germy.
    I smiled on the outside, but inside I couldn’t wait