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“And in national news, known fugitive Tigerstar, son of Pinestar, has been brought into police custody. His trial date has yet to be set, but after months of evasion, police say they’re eager to get closure for the victims.”
Pineheart disguises his surprise by taking a sip of coffee, but the waitress still shakes her finger on him.
“You changed your name on me.”
“There’re mountains of Pines, Yewstone. You can’t go assuming…”
“Nope,” she chirps. “There’s a picture of you and everything.”
He sighs, looking back at the television.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she says. “But you owe me an explanation.”
* * *
When her shift is over, they sit on the back of his truck. She passes him a cigarette, and he takes it gratefully. “So,” she says, “before or after your darling son became a criminal.”
Pineheart takes a drag. “Before.”
Yewstone nods, like she was expecting that answer.
Tigerstar, son of Pinestar. He’s surprised Tigerstar didn’t change it – hell, he’s surprised Leopardfoot didn’t change it. Pineheart hasn’t followed his son after he left, but he looked him up while he was waiting for Yewstone’s shift to finish.
“Didn’t you have questions?”
“I’m thinking.” She crosses her legs underneath her. “Did you know, then?”
“Not until now.” There’s been a flurry of reporting in the past few hours, summary coverage and speculation and surveys of Tigerstar’s life, Pineheart included.
The press seem oddly fixated on him.
“You’re not giving very good answers.”
“You’re not asking very good questions.”
* * *
His neighbour is watering his rose bushes when he gets home.
“Say, Pineheart,” Sprucedapple starts, “did you see–”
“Lookalike,” Pineheart says. “Yewstone was asking the same questions.”
Sprucedapple doesn’t look like he believes him, but Pineheart goes inside before there are any more questions.
* * *
“Why’d you leave?”
“I couldn’t do it any longer.
* * *
"An insider source has revealed that Pinestar, thought dead, is still alive. We have–”
Yewstone shuts off the television.
* * *
She brings him a box of donuts.
“Sorry to wake you up so early, but there are reporters at the diner.”
Pineheart sighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be there?”
“Personal day. Riceleaf let me.”
“Come in, then.”
Yewstone sits at his table, and takes a glazed donut out of the box. “They wanted to know what time you came by. I told them they had the wrong place. They didn’t believe me, but I don’t think any of them saw me leave.”
“Did you walk here?”
Yewstone nods. Pineheart rubs his temple.
“Can you make some coffee?”
“You could’ve brought some,” he says, but he starts the pot.
“Pineheart, are you happy here?”
He shrugs. “I’m happier here than I was.”
“They found you. They’re not going to let it go.” She takes a bite of the donut, watching him carefully. Yewstone is barely an adult, and it shows sometimes. “Are you going to leave again?”
“I might.”
The coffee finishes, and he pours her a cup. “How do you take it?”
“Milk and sugar.” She takes another bite. “I want your number.”
“What?”
“If you leave, I want your phone number. I still have questions.”