He’d hauled out four boxes full of beads, crayons, glitter glue, paper crafts, and things I couldn’t identify. And he’d been so happy to see me that I couldn’t bring myself to remind him of his chores. He demanded I sit next to him on the sofa so I could watch what he did.

“It’s almost done,” he said, reaching for a small wire cutter.

I took a bite of my venison burger and peered closer. Too fucking cute. He was spelling out ragazzo with colorful plastic beads.

“Just don’t forget to eat.” I extended my burger. “Wanna try this one? It’s from some steakhouse in Montana.”

He shook his head. He hadn’t touched his Cajun sandwich either. “I’m concentrating, Sir. I gotta concentrate.”

This kid wasn’t gonna clean up after himself without reminders, was he? He was off in his own world, where cleaning didn’t exist. Probably not festivals either.

“You remember that Daddy gave you a list of chores, right?”

He huffed. “I am cleaning. I’m using the stuff, and when I’ve used it, I’m putting it back where it belongs.”

That was one special way to sort through a mess.

“There’s no way August would buy that,” I noted wryly.

“But he’s not here now,” Camden replied smugly. “He won’t be back for many, many hours.”

“Actually…I was hoping I could bring you to the festival after we’ve eaten.”

He stopped what he was doing and scrunched his nose. “But Daddy’s working there. I would worry too much about running into people who recognize me, and it could get Daddy into trouble. No, Sir. No, thank you.”

I set down my burger and pressed a hand to my stomach. I winced a little, too. I’d eaten too much already.

“I know he wants me there, by the way,” he added. “I just get too nervous, and I don’t like being nervous.”

I rubbed his back but didn’t say anything yet. This was gonna take some creativity, I reckoned. I didn’t want him to feel worried when he was out; I wanted him to enjoy himself. Especially when he was regressing. Despite it being a food festival, there were several vendors selling other shit. Toys, balloons, board games… I’d passed one vendor after picking up the chicken fries I’d eaten on the way back here, and he’d sold both Alaskan ice cream and leather boots from their Native culture. I was certain Camden could have a blast at the festival, and his costumes came to mind again. Maybe it didn’t have to be a dumb idea. Maybe it was the perfect idea for a young man who thrived when he let go of all adult notions and standards.