Brian Larney: "Thank you," I said

The somber procession lurched forward, inch by inch, as hundreds of mourners filed their way into the cavernous St. Patrick's Church. Philadelphia, so far as Brian knew, had never seen quite so large a turnout for the funeral of one of its own. But this funeral, among so many that had occurred in the last six months, stood out like no other. The city was burying its finest and most selfless physician, Dr. Martin Limerick. He had toiled endless hours in the last six months, trying to save as many patients as he could. He'd mostly failed, Brian knew from what Martin had told him, but he'd said, "Brian, if I can just save one life from this terrible epidemic, I'll have done my job for the year." In the end, he could not save himself. He'd worn himself down and when the influenza of 1918 reached him, he died quickly and decisively. On a Christmas Eve that would've had Martin making his neighborhood visits, including one to Brian, he instead lay dying in bed. He didn't make it to Christmas Day.

Once inside the church, Brian could see the long row of people to greet the Limericks. There, at the front, stood Siobhan. Brian knew his best friend's wife -- and now widow -- could not stand him. Couldn't stand him because Brian had been different than anyone else. Well, Siobhan wasn't his friend; Martin had been. He came here to pay his respects. Next to Siobhan stood the redoubtable Mrs. Limerick -- Annie Kate, the spitfire who'd give Brian a sharp peck on the cheek with a how-de-doo every time they met. Standing close to Mrs. Limerick was Agnes -- Brian's favorite piano student. So gifted, so magical at the piano! Why, at just eight years of age, he could tell that she'd be a master. All in good time. And next to her, Agnes's older brother Patrick, a handsome young man of eleven years who'd grow into an even handsomer adult. Brian had to squelch the thought. It didn't seem proper, here at the funeral. But yes, he could sense it. Patrick was just like him.

He looked up from Patrick and caught the eye of Father Doherty. Siobhan's brother would be conducting the funeral himself -- a little irregular, considering he was the deceased's brother-in-law, but typical. Collin Doherty needed to be in control of everything, it seemed, though he certainly never controlled the independent Martin Limerick. Father Doherty suspected. He suspected it all -- about Brian, about the younger Patrick, about what had really connected Brian to Martin Limerick. Well, no matter. He didn't know anything. He could suspect all he wanted but never know a thing. Brian would certainly carry his and Martin's secret to his own grave, how ever many decades hence that might be.

Twenty minutes later, he reached the family and made his condolences. And he saw the mahogany coffin beyond. He bowed his head in a silent prayer and said, "Thank you, Martin."