Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(15)

“Have you ever played truth or dare?” Justine asked, setting aside the pit.

“Not since high school,” he said. “I can’t say I’ve missed it.”

“Me, neither. Still … want to play a couple of rounds?”

Settling back in his chair, Jason gave her an assessing glance. No doubt she thought it would disarm him, coerce a couple of answers he wouldn’t have given otherwise. But it would work both ways. “I never take dares,” he said.

“Okay, then for you, it’s all truth. Now, about limits, I think we should—”

“No limits. It’s not worth playing otherwise.”

“No limits,” Justine agreed, a new and faintly wary edge to her tone. “What about penalties?”

“Whoever loses a round has to remove an item of clothing.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Justine’s eyes widen.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll start: Tell me your idea of true happiness.”

He reached for a small white paper napkin and folded it diagonally, using the flat of his thumbnail to sharpen the crease. “I don’t believe in happiness.” Turning the napkin over, he folded it into a small square. “People think they’re happy when something like a box of doughnuts, a Lakers win over the Spurs, or a sex position with a Latin name causes certain chemicals to attach to receptors in the brain to stimulate electrical impulses in neurons. It doesn’t last, though. It’s not long-term. It’s not real.”

“What a downer,” Justine said, laughing.

“You asked.” He folded the sides of the napkin inward to form a compressed triangular base. “Next round: truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she said promptly, watching the careful, deliberate movements of his hands.

“Why did you break up with your last boyfriend?” He began to fold and crease the flaps of the triangle.

A swift tide of pink swept up to her hairline. “It just … didn’t work out.”

“That’s not an answer. Tell me the reason.”

“Sometimes there is no reason for why people break up.”

He paused in the middle of folding the points of the paper shape and gave her a mocking glance. “There’s always a reason.”

“Then I don’t know what it is.”

“You know what it is. You just don’t want to admit it. Which means you lose the round.” He looked at her expectantly.

Frowning, Justine wriggled her foot out of a delicate white sandal and pushed it toward his chair.

The sight of her bare foot, beautiful and long-toed, the nails painted with glittery pale blue polish, seized Jason’s attention.

“Your turn,” he heard her say, and reluctantly he dragged his gaze back to her face. “Where were you during those two years after you left the monastery?”

He peeled the edges of paper away from the folded model until they resembled flower petals. “I went to stay with relatives in Okinawa. My mother was half Japanese. I’d never met any of her family, but I’d always wanted to. I thought it would help me feel closer to her.” Before Justine could respond, he gave her the finished origami.

She took it hesitantly, her eyes round and wondering. “A lily.”

“Yuri,” he murmured. “The name comes from a Japanese word that describes how the flowers move in the wind. Truth or dare?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Truth.”

“What caused the breakup with your last boyfriend?”

Justine’s mouth dropped open. “You already asked me that.”

“Still not going to answer?”

“No.”

“Then hand over another piece of clothing.”

Indignantly Justine removed her other sandal and flipped it to him. “You’re going to keep asking the same thing over and over, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Until you’ve answered, or you’re naked.”

“You can’t think of anything else you’d like to know about me?”

“Afraid not.” He tried to look contrite. “I tend to hyperfocus. One-track mind.”

Justine gave him a fulminating glance. “Next round. You said you went to the Zen monastery to learn the answer to something. What did you find out?”

“I found out,” he said slowly, “that I have no soul.”

Six

Justine stared at him in astonishment. “You mean like … you’re no good at dancing?”

“No, then I would have said I have no rhythm. Which is also true. But I meant it literally—I have no soul.”

“If you didn’t, you couldn’t be sitting here and talking to me. You wouldn’t be alive.”

“What do you think a soul is?”

“The thing that makes your heart beat and your brain work and your body move around.”

“Actually, the human body runs on thermoelectric energy. About a hundred watts—the equivalent of a standard lightbulb.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said. “But I’ve always thought of the soul as the power source.”

“No. The soul is something separate.”

She looked bewildered and troubled as she contemplated Jason, absently tapping a forefinger against the tip of her nose. Abruptly she asked, “What do Buddhists believe about the soul?”