Humming to himself, Mr. McDaniels ambled down the stairs to examine a framed photograph of their family taken before Bryn McDaniels had disappeared. David poked Max in the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” David hissed. “Does your dad know about Rowan?”
“It’s okay,” whispered Max. “He’s wearing a visitor badge that hides anything funny. Why aren’t you at dinner?”
David shrugged. “Got wrapped up in my book—wasn’t hungry.”
“Did I hear you say you haven’t eaten?” said Mr. McDaniels, his head popping up from the stairwell. Both Max and David jumped.
“Uh, yeah,” said David. “But I can get something later—they usually keep leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense! You’re coming to celebrate Max’s birthday with us!”
“Oh, that’s okay,” muttered David. “Thanks, though.”
“Nonsense again!” cried Mr. McDaniels.
“Give in, David. He’ll drag you if he has to,” Max said with finality.
“It’s true!” Mr. McDaniels conceded, planting a kiss on top of his son’s head. “Oh, it’s good to see my birthday boy! Let’s unwrap your present and get going—my fuel tank’s near empty.”
“If you insist.” Max grinned, sliding the large box across the floor. He peeled off handfuls of wrapping paper while Mr. McDaniels chuckled in anticipation and winked at David.
“Wow, it’s, uh, great!” said Max, trying to sound enthusiastic as he studied the box. “Thanks, Dad!”
“What is it?” asked David, leaning forward.
“It’s a Beefmeister 2000!” crowed Mr. McDaniels. “You boys will be able to grill your favorite meats and veggies right here at school!” Max’s father seemed to swell with pride.
“Oh, it looks really neat,” offered David. Max shut his eyes and waited.
“‘Neat?’” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels. “Is the Great Wall of China neat? The Grand Canyon? Then don’t make the mistake of underestimating the Beefmeister 2000! David, what would you say if I told you this product could handle anything desired by the summer sportsman? Anything—from steaks to rotisserie chicken to a delicate salmon fillet! And with its EZ-Clean patented surface, cleanup’s not just easy, it’s fun!”
David’s eyes widened. He shot an incredulous glance at Max, who merely shrugged.
“And that’s not all,” said Mr. McDaniels with a sly wink. He slipped an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Max.
Max tore it open and read the enclosed certificate.
“It says twice a month, I’ll be receiving a shipment of assorted meats…. Thanks again, Dad.”
“That’s a great present, Mr. McDaniels,” said David, his hand positioned oddly in front of his face. “Awesome.”
The McDanielses left David to change and walked back to the foyer, but Mr. Lukens and Nigel had not yet returned. The sounds of supper could be heard from the back stairs off the great hall.
“Let’s go take a peek down there, Max,” said Mr. McDaniels, veering toward the stairwell. “It’d be fun to meet some more of your classmates!”
“Uh, we’d better not. David will be here in a minute, and so will Mr. Lukens.”
“Aw, c’mon,” chided Mr. McDaniels, already disappearing down the stairs.
In desperation, Max looked once more for Nigel before scurrying after his father. He froze at the bottom of the stairs as he heard his father’s voice call out.
“Miss Aloha! How are you?”
Max hurried around the corner to see Mr. McDaniels standing by the head table, shaking the hand of a very surprised Miss Awolowo. His broad face was beaming as he surveyed the large hall full of students, who had stopped eating to gape at the unexpected intrusion.
“Hi, everyone,” Mr. McDaniels boomed, giving a friendly wave. “I’m Scott McDaniels—Max McDaniels’s dad!”
The room was silent; a few students gave awkward waves. Max saw Alex Mu?oz doubled up with laughter at one of the tables. Catching Max’s eye, he puffed out his cheeks to mock Mr. McDaniels’s girth. Anna and Sasha were red and shaking with laughter.
Undaunted by the silence, Mr. McDaniels rocked back and forth.
“Visiting from Chicago,” he explained with his usual good cheer. “Max’s birthday’s coming up—the big thirteen!”
Max felt hundreds of eyes shift from his father to him. Ears burning, he nodded and tugged at his father’s sleeve. Suddenly, Nigel descended the stairs accompanied by Mr. Lukens and David.
“I thought you might have stolen down here,” Nigel chided, looking at his watch. “I told the Grove we’d try to be there by seven, so we’d better be on the move.”
As Nigel finished his sentence, the dining hall was illuminated by a flash of light. Mr. Lukens smiled and placed a small camera back in his pocket.
“Wonderful shot,” he explained, upon seeing Nigel’s frown. “My niece will love getting a sense of daily life—”
“I’ll be happy to send you some brochures, Mr. Lukens,” Nigel replied tersely. “Please do not take any more photographs of the students; it is illegal to do so without their parents’ permission.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Lukens. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”
“Apology accepted,” said Nigel, taking Mr. Lukens by the arm and lightly steering him toward the stairs.
Four unfamiliar adults were waiting in the foyer. As Max reached the top of the stairs, Ms. Richter’s voice called to the new arrivals from the hallway that led to her office. They nodded at Nigel and filed past Mr. Lukens to disappear down the hallway.
“Well, now,” Mr. Lukens quipped, as though speaking to himself. “Someone quite important must be down that hall….”
As Nigel held the door for Max and David, another flash illuminated the foyer.
“Mr. Lukens,” Nigel snapped. “I thought we’d agreed that photographs are not permitted.”
Mr. Lukens held up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“I thought the prohibition was against having students in the photographs. Surely you don’t object to a photo of this magnificent chateau?”
Nigel said nothing, but Max saw a vein throb in his forehead. Mr. Lukens breezed past him and down the steps to the fountain.
Dinner was a tale of two conversations, with Mr. McDaniels entertaining Max and David at one end of the table while Nigel and Mr. Lukens were engaged at the other. Mr. McDaniels was describing the many merits of Bedford Bros. Crispy Soup Wafers to an attentive David when Mr. Lukens called over.
“Scott, Mr. Bristow just asked what it takes to be successful in advertising. What do you think?”
“That’s easy,” chortled Mr. McDaniels, wiping his mouth before continuing to speak. “You’ve got to love your client and love their products! Without that, it’s just a job, and if it’s just a job, you won’t be successful.”
“Cheers to that,” said Nigel, raising his glass. “Here’s to doing what you love—what’s that they say? ‘If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life?’ Anything to add, Mr. Lukens?”
Mr. Lukens paused a moment, shooting Nigel a mischievous grin. Max thought he looked like a little boy who had been caught cheating at something trivial.
“Oh, I think Scott said it well enough,” he said. “A bit idealistic, perhaps. My bias is that successful advertising requires you to shock your audience—catch them unaware and, eh, go for that jugular.”
Mr. Lukens beamed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Most of the time, you’ve only got that one shot to get them, so it’d better count,” he added, before glancing at his watch. “My God—is that the time? Scott, I hate to say it, but we’ve got a plane to catch.”
Mr. McDaniels looked at his watch and frowned, looping an arm around Max in the process. “I guess we do,” he said softly, forking a last bite of potato.
Nigel had Mr. Lukens drop them at the gate, insisting that it would save valuable minutes for their trip to the airport. They all piled out of the car and said their good-byes. After Nigel had collected the visitor badges, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a long, fierce hug and whispered that it would not be long until Max would be coming home.