The Sweet Spot

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IT WAS A top-down kind of day. The sky was blue, with a few passing clouds, and just a hint of breeze, indicating that winter was waving its final good-bye and that summer was just around the corner. The sun was bright and warm, encouraging buds to blossom into fragrant, glorious flowers. The very atmosphere spoke of all the things possible as the earth renewed itself after a cold East Coast hibernation. The day was just too tempting to leave the top up, even though Amanda never put the top down anymore—not since that first summer she’d had the Chrysler Sebring, anyway. She’d always wanted a convertible. At least fate had been kind enough to wait until August two years ago to sport around before a wasp tangled itself in her hair at forty miles an hour on her way to opening day at the Cold Creek. It ended up stinging her hand, her neck, and, inadvertently, her front bumper and an unsuspecting fire hydrant. She spent the night she had been meticulously planning for months moping in the ER with a slight concussion and a burn from the airbag. From then on, it had been air conditioning whenever she was in the car. But when she walked out the front door this late April afternoon, greeted with that first you-know-you-don’t-need-a-jacket day, she was willing to take the risk. Today felt different. And wasps would still be drowsy. As she drove past Maxwell Place Park, Amanda watched ducks and geese and squirrels roaming in pairs, actually looking love-struck, ready to extend their respective species. People on the streets were smiling as they hustled about their day; others were acting flirty. It was nothing short of spring fever, and she couldn’t help but catch it.

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