Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
“Something tells me he’d thrive anywhere,” I replied, wondering if Derek was so deep into reacquainting himself with his “life of privilege” that he couldn’t even see the danger zones for a boy living in modern-day America, the areas where his child needed his father’s guidance and protection—and censorship.
Beyond all of that, though, I couldn’t help but imagine the gulf that had been widening between this man and his wife since they came to the States. As Derek accumulated and experienced the finer things, his wife must’ve felt as though she was looking on from a vast distance, wondering where the selfless, dedicated man she once knew had gone.
Derek looked at me, his fork paused in midair.
“What is it?” he asked. “Obviously, you want to tell me something, something more than just the fact that it’s my sister who’s been ruining my marriage and my life. What is it?”
I sat back, wondering myself. What did I want to say? That his marriage was worth saving? That he was lucky that the person he loved was still alive, still around to patch things up with? I lowered my voice and leaned forward.
“Your problem is solved, Derek. Sidra isn’t the bad guy here, and neither are you. Now what are you going to do about it?”
“Too much damage has been done,” he said, shaking his head, looking down at his plate. “She’s perfectly sane, and I’ve been treating her like she was nuts.”
“You can make it up to her.”
“It’s too late.”
“Why won’t you fight for your marriage?” I demanded, but he wouldn’t reply.
I felt my stomach lurch, and I was angry with him, angry with myself for even caring.
“Three years ago,” I said, my voice a furious whisper, “I watched my husband—the husband I loved and cherished and promised to be with until death do us part—get killed. Killed in a senseless accident by a drunken boater who wasn’t paying attention. When it was over, I held my husband’s lifeless body in my arms.”
Derek’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“So don’t look at me,” I whispered, “and tell me ‘it’s too late’ for anything. My husband is dead, Derek. That’s what you call ‘too late.’ Everything else is just an excuse.”
I picked up my purse, pulled out a twenty, and slapped it onto the table. Then I stood and walked out of the restaurant and to my car as quickly as my trembling legs could carry me.
Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
