While I waited, spring bathed central Florida in waves of warmth, coaxing bright green buds from the live oaks and new spears from the palm trees. Caladiums bloomed in pots around Mama Isa’s front porch, and Jorge painted the metal gliders in a fresh coat of yellow to match the ribbons on the porch posts. Marilee spent hours practicing for her spring recital, and at the grocery we arranged packages of sunny marshmallow Peeps in cellophane mountains. I wandered through those weeks in a fog, preoccupied with thoughts of France and my absent son. I was certain I would win my case—how could any judge deny a child to his biological mother? If by some chance the case went as far as an international court, how could France deny the United States access to an American citizen? The full realization of what victory would mean blossomed in my imagination. I would have to find a way to ease Julien’s transition from the Amblour family to the Lisandra clan, but that would be easy because the Lisandras were eager to welcome him.
