Jane McCain stared at him in a daze, then burst out laughing.
"Yeah, right, you've had so many girlfriends."
She ignored him and walked ahead on her own, unable to suppress a smile at the corners of her lips.
Allen Rivera quickened his pace to catch up, clasped her hand, interlacing their fingers, and then slowed down to walk alongside her.
Beneath their feet were the ancient bluestones, flanked by a rustling bamboo grove, and occasionally they would spot a solitary coarse pottery water jar, half buried in the earth, surrounded by scattered faded petals. It gave off a sense of tranquility and peace, like a silent, serene Zen state that prompted contemplation.
They walked shoulder to shoulder without speaking.
After a while, Jane McCain asked Allen Rivera, "What are you thinking about?"
"Thinking about the past," Allen Rivera replied.
"Thinking about your past girlfriends?" Jane McCain said, half jokingly and half earnestly, "Don't think about them; I'll get jealous."
