Nowhere to Run by Nancy Bush

raft of piñatas hung from the ceiling. Twice a year the cantina had an afternoon party for all the neighborhood kids who slammed away at the piñatas until all the candy spilled across the floor. The owners then replaced them for the next bout of pounding. Once a night, Rosa’s Cantina also played the Marty Robbins classic, “El Paso,” from which they’d taken the name for their bar. At least that’s what Hague had told Liv, but now she heard the owner calling his wife Rosa, so it looked like there were other reasons as well.
    From her viewpoint Liv could see through the front window to the stretch of sidewalk outside the cantina’s doors. As she settled herself onto a stool, she saw her father and Lorinda pass by. Albert glanced in but Liv didn’t think he noticed her on the far side of the rectangular, center bar as she was squeezed up tightly against the young couple on the bar stools to her right.
    The bar owner was pulling glasses down from the overhead rack. “What’ll you have?” he asked Liv. “My treat.” He pushed two empty margarita glasses toward Rosa. “I’m Jimmy.”
    “And I’m Rosa. His better half,” the woman said, grabbing up the glasses. “What’d he do? If he’s buying you a drink, he did something.”
    “He can buy me a drink,” the man next to Liv said. “And Nicole here, too.”
    Nicole looked up from under her date’s arm and said, “El Grande Margarita.”
    “I nearly ran her down,” Jimmy said to Rosa. “She deserves a margarita.” He gave Nicole a mock glare through narrowed eyes. “You don’t.”
    “Yes, I do!” she declared. “I’m your best customer!”
    “You’re not even close,” Jimmy snorted.
    Her date said, “She’s close. Maybe she’s not first, but she’s close.”
    Jimmy gave them both a look that said, “Bullshit,” but he relented, and Rosa whipped up two margaritas and slid one to Liv and one to Nicole.
    Liv was pretty sure she abhorred tequila, but the drink was free and she was desperate to shake off the bad feelings meeting with her family had brought on.
    Rosa slid a small bowl of chips and salsa Liv’s way, and Jimmy revealed that she was Hague’s sister. “The Hague?” Rosa asked.
    It was a nickname that had followed her brother throughout his life, a reference to the city that is the governmental center of the Netherlands. It seemed that anyone who got to know Hague, even marginally, called him The Hague.
    “If someone’s in his seat, he gets worse than upset,” Rosa said. She jerked her head toward the northeast corner of the bar, where a man and woman were staring at each other and holding hands, he with his back to the booth, she across from him in a chair. “That’s Hague’s place, and he makes sure everyone knows it.”
    “It’s not that bad,” Jimmy said.
    “Hah,” Rosa snorted. “We’re just lucky The Hague’s not here tonight, otherwise those two lovebirds would have to move. He’s not coming, is he?” She looked a bit stricken.
    “No,” Liv said. She felt like apologizing for her brother, but knew it would do no good. Hague was Hague. He couldn’t be changed.
    “He mutters to himself, and then shouts, then waves his arm, then goes into a trance,” Nicole said.
    “He swears at people that pass by,” her boyfriend offered up.
    “Stop it. Stop it.” Jimmy waved a towel at them. “You’ll make her want to leave.” To Liv, he said, “Don’t listen to them. The Hague’s just part of the colorful group that makes up our clientele.”
    Liv nodded. She couldn’t think of anything to say, but when they clearly expected her to add something, she asked, “Does he come in here alone?”
    “That nurse is with him sometimes. Or, whatever the hell she is,” the boyfriend said.
    “Caretaker,” Nicole clarified.
    Rosa shook her head. “I think he likes to get away from her. He mostly comes when she’s out, but then she always comes looking for him.”
    This little insight into her brother’s life