He mentioned her a lot during his psychiatric sessions as he grew up. Only with much time and effort, did it seem that in the last several years her name hardly came into conversation. Of course, as his latest collection of works indicated, she still dwelt in his thoughts.

"When you saw her," Roden decided to test the field, "how did that make you feel?"

Max's wistfully nostalgic look suddenly changed into amused laughter. "How did that make me feel? Oh, Mike, come on. You're a psychiatrist, not a social worker. When you ask such silly questions, it makes me think that I should have gone into psychiatry myself. That would be an easy living, asking pointless open-ended questions! 'It's raining outside. How does that make you feel?' 'Your cat just died. How does that make you feel?' Mike, come on. I thought you knew me better than that."

This little speech made Roden a little bit perturbed, but he knew that Max enjoyed teasing him, and he wasn't about to rise to the bate. "Seriously, Max. You saw her. Obviously it stirred up some emotions. So . . . how did it make you feel?"

Max rolled his eyes at his doctor friend with a smile. "Fine. I'll play along." He sat back on the couch, thinking of his answer.

"Max," Roden said after a moment, "You shouldn't have to think that long about how you felt. Just say the first thing that comes to you."

Max sat up again, and his expression became stoic. Then, he began slowly, "It felt wonderful and painful all at once. After I finally convinced myself that she was really there, I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest; but I thought it might be breaking, too. I think it felt like that because it couldn't take the intense thrill." He smiled as if realizing it again for the first time. "She was there, and she was real. She is real." He became lost in his thoughts.

"Max, stay focused. How do you feel now? Now that your heart, I'm sure, has calmed down."

"I feel . . . I feel better than I ever have in my life. It must be endorphins or something. I've never felt so good." He thought a moment longer. "And it was just from looking at her; seeing her."

Wheels were turning in Max's head, Roden could tell. "What are you thinking, Max?"

Max's eyes flipped towards Roden as he ascended out of his reverie. "Nothing. I'm just . . . I just feel good." Roden studied his face a little bit longer, then Max suddenly decided to speak again. "It's fate, isn't it? It's a wonderful, incredible, perfect coincidence. I've thought about her for so long, and now she has come back into my life. It must be . . . destiny."

Roden became curious, and ever so slightly suspicious. "Did you talk to her?"

"No," answered Max, looking rather embarrassed. " I couldn't. I wanted to. I wanted to go up and – thank her. What she did for me has meant the world to me. She influenced me. She influenced my art. I wanted to thank her, and I wanted to – be close to her." He looked disgusted with himself, "But I couldn't do it. I was a chicken, you know? I had her on such a high pedestal in my mind that I just didn't feel good enough to even be in her presence."

"And now?" Roden prompted.

"And now, I regret it. I had the opportunity to re-introduce myself, and I blew it." Max's disappointment with himself was obvious. "But I have a theory. It was fate that she was there, that she happened to show up at the same place at the same time as me. Fate gave me a chance, and I screwed up. But now, I have an opportunity to make up for it."

"What do you mean?" Roden's suspicions grew.

Max looked guilty, but Roden was his psychiatrist and his friend, so after a hesitant pause, he answered him. "I followed her."

Roden's face betrayed his shock, and it made Max blush all the more with guilt. When he finally regained himself, Roden replied, "Max, you know that is a very bad sign. That is a very bad reaction." He took a deep breath and let it out. "You know that sounds a lot like obsession."

"I know." Max groaned. "I know that that's what it sounds like. Believe me, I'm aware of how my actions must seem. But it was fate, and I screwed it up. I just wanted a chance to fix it." He tried too hard to hide the shame from his face, making it all the more obvious.

Roden had started to feel a little guilty himself when Max first mentioned the words 'destiny' and 'fate', and he knew he needed to clear this up.

"I need to say something to you," Roden began. "I want to make some things clearer to you. You said it was fate that brought you two to the same time and place for a second time. Well, it was more of a coincidence that was enhanced by me." Roden looked at Max and saw confusion slowly working into his features.

He continued, "I happened to be dining at Benlevi's when I overheard a conversation. It was Esther speaking about a lemonade stand she had once, and a little boy in rags who she gave lemonade to." Max's eyes perked up at this. "I recognized the story, and decided to mention to her that I knew that boy, and he happened to be an artist with a collection of works dedicated to her."

"You spoke to her?" Max interrupted. Roden could read envy and a hint of jealousy in his voice, but it disappeared a moment later. "So, I have you to thank?"

"To answer your first question, yes, obviously I did speak to her," Roden answered, "I thought she might be interested in the collection; and, to be quite honest, since you hate being anywhere near the galleries where your works are being displayed, I thought she wouldn't have the awkwardness of bumping into you if she didn't want to." This information surprised and irritated Max.

"What would be wrong with bumping into me?" He retorted. "I've wanted to find her again my whole life. You know I used to drive all the neighborhoods in the city just trying to find her home again." His anger slowly grew. "Why would you keep such a thing as finding Esther from me?"

"That," Roden countered, "is exactly why I wasn't about to let you know that I'd met her. Listen to yourself. You're as obsessive about her as you ever were."

"I am not obsessed!" Now Max's rising anger returned to shame. "Why can't I have a chance to show her my thanks? I remember her, and I am grateful to her. And I'm not the only one who remembers, either. She remembers me. You heard her yourself."

Roden was stunned at this realization. He kept messing up. First he confronted the woman to tell her he recognized her childhood story and to recommend Max's artwork, then he told Max that she remembered their previous encounter. He was doing a very bad job at being a psychiatrist right then, and he never felt so disloyal to his profession. He needed to smooth it over.

"Max, listen to me. I had no right to meddle, and – quite stupidly – I thought that telling her about the statues you sculpted of her would be a nice gesture without interfering with your life. Now I see that I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry you interfered? This could be the most important thing that ever happened to me, and you're sorry that you made it happen? And here I thought we were friends."

Roden looked at his patient, and saw the disappointment on the younger man's face. "The coincidence of overhearing her was one thing, I should not have acted on it. I should have left it alone. It was none of my business and against my occupational ethics." Then, trying to divert the topic, he suggested, "Maybe we should discuss the obsessive feelings a little further."