She nodded, and swung her pink shoes in an arc above the spotted gray linoleum. For two years she had seen her mother only with a warden’s supervision, every week at first, until the long drive became a hassle to the overworked social worker and the visits became more intermittent. There were no grandparents to take her, and her father was serving a twenty-year sentence. Two uncles and an aunt were also in prison, and another aunt had left the state and refused custody of Lauren. So Lauren had spent two birthdays in foster care.

“This is a big day,” I said. “Not everybody turns six and gets to see their mom on the same day.”

“Did you know it was my birthday?” she asked.

“I did,” I said, and waited for an account of any celebrations. “Have you had a party yet?” I ventured.

“We had pony rides and a duck piñata with candy inside,” she said. “The pony was my favorite.”

For a moment it seemed better that Ruth stay in prison than come out and hear about pony rides with foster parents.

I said, “My husband has baby horses, sort of like ponies. You can’t ride them, but you could bring your mom to see them if you want.” I thought of Cort on the floor with the foal.

“Do you ride the momma horses?” Lauren asked.

“They make me sneeze,” I said. “But I’ll ask my husband if you can ride them.”

The social worker stood across the waiting room. She had recommended the foster parents for custody, impressed with their big house and their solidity, and now she acted like she’d been voted out. No other relatives or friends showed up. When Ruth finally came out in her court clothes, she knelt and took her daughter in her arms. Lauren stood straight in her bright sweater, patting her mother on the back. The social worker left by herself, and I went out to my car to put the birthday cake in the trunk. I didn’t know how to present it. It seemed meager next to the piñata party, and cruel to call attention to Ruth’s empty-handedness.

Lauren had her seat belt on before I got the key in the ignition. Ruth slipped into the passenger seat and stared out the window as we drove. Her hands looked thin in her lap. I asked careful questions of them both until Lauren began a tentative monologue about kindergarten.