If she had insisted her mother also board the boat.
If she had forced her.
If she had been more forgiving.
If the motor had sputtered.
If she hadn’t stared so long at that awful coat.
If she had opened her eyes in the dark and gazed back at her mother.
If she’d admitted how good it felt to lie there and feel her mother present, watching.
If there had been anything left of her mother after the fire.
If the firemen had found even some vestige of her teeth.
If Raquel had turned around and waved again, harder.
If she had called out as the boat drew away, had left her mother curious about what it was she’d shouted from the water.
If the waves had been so strong that they couldn’t leave.
If the whale.
If the boat.
If the rain.