Short story: The Candelabra

A broken engagement and the death of a beloved family pet. What are friends for?

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It had been a bad week. Losing our beloved family pet had left me miserable. Sharlie was a tiny Jack Russell puppy when she was given to my brother Peter on his fifteenth birthday.  

As the little dog grew, she filled our lives with fun and laughter. When Peter left home in his early twenties, he took Sharlie to live in the digs where he was doing a Master of Divinity degree. 

‘Dogs are not usually allowed.’ Peter explained. ‘But I told them that Sharlie was almost human, and I would take full responsibility for her – so they have made an exception.’

Much to our delight, Peter took on the role of youth pastor at the Methodist church near our home a few years later. This meant we continued to see plenty of him and Sharlie. I was thrilled when he started spending much of his free time with my fiancé, Steven, my best friend, Rosie, and myself, making up a foursome. 

Rosie and I met on our first day at high school. We could not have been more different. I was conservative, while Rosie was out there. She wore her blouses one size too small and cut too low for her ample bosom. Her tight jeans fitted a snuggly over her trim buttocks. High heel shoes clip-clopped, large dangly earrings – bright red nails matched her lipstick and big unruly blonde hair. She may have appeared a tad tarty, but I looked past all that and found the kindest, warmest, most generous person I have ever met. Rosie had a heart of gold.

I should not have been shocked when Peter announced he had asked Rosie to marry him. 

‘I didn’t even know she was his girlfriend,’ Mum quipped 

‘Neither did I. He certainly fooled me.’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t think for one minute that Rosie was his type.’ 

While spending time with us, Peter discovered what I had always known. Rosie’s appearance might be eccentric, but she was a fantastic woman. The congregation did not immediately embrace his choice of bride, but they were good people, and Rosie slowly won them over. A few older members asked her to please tone down her skimpy attire, and she agreed to dress more moderately on Sundays and at church functions. 

Sharlie had lived a long, happy dog life, but her death could not have happened at a worse time for me. I had just broken off my engagement to Steven. I loved him and believed he loved me. Then, a few days earlier, I had walked into the tearoom at work and caught him red-handed with his arms around Diane, one of my work colleagues. I was shocked and deeply hurt. 

He tried to explain. ‘I was just comforting a work colleague, Lindy; she’d just lost her job.’ 

Hah! A likely story. I did not wait to hear any more. He had broken my trust. Why couldn’t he comfort her without getting physical? Why did she have to be so pretty? I had always been jealous of Diane. I gave his ring back and cried buckets of tears. Since then, I have refused to meet with him or take his calls.

I opened the front door to Rosie that evening, who barged past me carrying a large box. ‘I can’t stay long, Lindy. I’ve left the twins with Peter.’ She walked into my ensuite. ‘I’m here to transform your bathroom into a relaxing spar so you can try to forget your worries and woes.’ She was wearing her bossy boots. ‘Go and do whatever it is you do. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’ She shut the door in my face.

Half an hour later, she blindfolded me and marched me into the bathroom. The waft of perfume almost made me gag. She removed the blindfold.

‘There you go, a candle-lit fairyland, my dearest friend. I’ve put in the bubble bath and started running the water.’ She handed me a container. ‘These are fresh rose petals. Once you’re in the bath, you can light the floating candles and open the mini bottle of champagne to sip while you enjoy the ultimate bubbly experience.’

In the corner, on a stool, stood an enormous silver candelabra with lighted candles. 

‘Where did you get the Candelabra?’ I asked.

‘I’ve borrowed it from the church altar. I figured you needed it more than an empty church.’ 

…

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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