Page 49 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Brushing my teeth with Ernst standing on the toilet seat lid, watching me with wide-eyes, was slightly odd, but he was not ready to come out and introduce himself to Lucas yet. He was watching the movements of me brushing my teeth with morbid fascination, as though someone jamming a brush into their mouth over and over was the oddest thing he’d ever seen. Either Oma never brushed her teeth or Ernst had never been allowed to watch the process. Once my teeth were thoroughly clean, and I had spat and rinsed, I reached for a washcloth so that I could knock the day’s grime off of my face. Ernst finally spoke up as I was running the cloth under the hot water that came out of the faucet at a temperature just shy of boiling.

“Sir,” he said, “is everything okay now?”

“It’s okay for now, Ernst.” I nodded.

“Good.” Ernst nodded furiously. “That’s good, sir.”

“Yeah,” I replied as I brought the cloth to my face.

“The missus is not goin’ ta be happy with me for a long time, sir.” He squeaked. “She wouldn’t speak ta me after we were in the cellar, sir.”

Ernst’s squeaky voice and high pitch made me wonder if Lucas could hear him out in the bedroom where he was waiting in bed. Even if he couldn’t hear Ernst, I knew that he could probably hear me. I didn’t like thinking that he might be in my bed, waiting for me, wondering why I was having a conversation with myself. After everything that had happened since we had started seeing each other, the last thing I needed to do was give any indication that the elevator didn’t go to the top. The thought of Lucas not wanting to be with me anymore felt like a lump of cold clay in my stomach.

You shouldn’t feel that way at all.

You’ve only been dating for…

“She’ll get over it, Ernst.” I smiled at him as I washed my face. “She just has to get over feeling like we were disobedient. Besides, you didn’t do anything wrong. I did. If she keeps being mean to you, you let me know, and I’ll talk to her, okay?”

“I’ll be doin’ no such thing!” He was scandalized. “Sir, you cannot tell the missus what ta do!”

“I wouldn’t tell her what to do, Ernst.” I chuckled. “I’d just reason with her so she’d know she should be nicer to you.”

“She is nice enough,” Ernst said haughtily.

Apparently, this was a sore spot, and the conversation on the matter was over as far as he was concerned.

“Ernst.” I frowned, then finished wiping my face clean before turning to him. “Why was there nothing in the cellar?”

“What do ya’ mean, sir?”

Blinking at him, I wondered if Ernst would actually tell me anything or not. Maybe he would keep his mouth shut after how Oma had treated him. There was no point in not trying to get information, though, so I plodded on, hoping I wouldn’t make Ernst upset with me.

“I feel like maybe there is supposed to be something down there.”

“What should be down there, sir?”

I swallowed hard.

“A well.”

Ernst did his best not to let it happen, but his eyes grew marginally wider as he stared at me.

“I feel that there should be a well down there, Ernst.” I reiterated. “But it wasn’t down there when we went into the cellar earlier. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe you are confused?” His squeak was higher than usual.

Gotcha.

“I don’t think so, Ernst.” I shook my head gently. “Do you know why it wasn’t there when we went down into the cellar?”

Ernst was wringing his hands in front of himself, his eyes darting all over the room. For a minute, I thought he might slip into a shadow by the claw-foot tub or into the linen closet and disappear. Remove himself from a difficult and awkward situation. Instead, he stayed perched on the toilet lid, still only coming chest high to me, wringing his hands.

“I won’t tell Oma whatever you say.”

“Well,” he whispered, “I dunno, sir.”

“You don’t know if there’s supposed to be a well in the cellar or you don’t know why it wasn’t there?”