HE REST OF THE DAY IS SO BUSY—the Yahoo pictures cause all sorts of coverage, including me interviewing Carl himself—that I don’t have a chance to tell Penelope about the nasty e-mail. I call her when I get home that night and fill her in, tell her about Aragorn’s beheading. It sounds so bleeping dumb when I say it aloud.

“Call the police,” she says. “See if there’s anything they can do. This sucks, Chastity.”

“It’s not a huge deal,” I say, stroking Buttercup’s sensitive ears. “But yeah, I’d feel better.” And so I call the computer crimes specialist at the police department, who seems to take a lot of notes and says they’ll send someone in to run some diagnostics on my computer.

“Nothing’s happening anywhere but work?” the cop asks.

“Correct,” I answer. “I feel dumb bothering you with something so small.”

“Better to report it than not,” she says. “You never know what whackos are out there, prowling on innocent people.”

Gee, thanks, lady. “Right,” I say.

Matt is working that night, so Buttercup and I are alone. I stick The Fellowship of the Ring in the DVD player. Just as I’m settling in, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand, the phone rings.

“Hello, there,” Ryan says. “How are you?”

“Oh, hey, Ryan,” I say. “I’m okay. I had kind of a crappy day, actually.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he says. “What—damn. Chastity, I’m being paged. Can I call you later? I’m really sorry. You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You go. I understand.”

“Love you,” he says and hangs up.

I squinch my right eye shut and grit my teeth. He loves me? Since when? That didn’t sound very convincing. We’ve been on five dates. Slept together three times. He loves me?

“Shut it, Chastity,” I say aloud. It’s not impossible that a man could fall in love with me in the space of a few weeks. “I guess I’m a very loveable person, Buttercup,” I say. “Don’t you agree?”

She does. She licks my face and lays her head back in my lap with a sigh.

I’m just at the Prancing Pony scene where we first meet the dark and delicious Aragorn when a knock interrupts me. It’s Mark, a box of Twinkies under his arm, a bouquet of irises in his hand. “Hi. I’m sorry,” he says, thrusting the gifts at me. Any residual anger I might have had melts away at the sight of his tormented face.

“Come in, pal,” I tell him, putting his offerings on the hall table.

He takes off his coat, stopping to let Buttercup sniff his shoes before sitting on the couch. “What are you watching?” he asks, gesturing at the TV.

“Lord of the Rings,” I answer. Turning off the DVD player and TV, I turn to face my difficult brother. “Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “No.”

“Can I do anything?”

“You should be mad at me, Chas. Shit, I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Well, I’m not mad, Mark. Glad I punched you, yes, but not mad. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

He gives a bitter laugh. “Why? Isn’t my life going great? Come on, dog. Sit with me.” Buttercup lunges on the couch next to him, settling her head on his lap with a groan.

“Mark,” I begin tentatively, “what do you want to happen next? With Elaina and Dylan and everything?”

“I want everything to go back to where it was,” he answers thickly, petting Buttercup and not looking at me.

“That can’t happen.”

“I know. So I’m stuck. She won’t forgive me.” A tear plops onto Buttercup’s head, but Mark keeps petting.

“She wants to, you know.”

“She says she can’t trust me.” His voice is heavy. Mark doesn’t cry. Me, I blubber an ocean. Mark…he’s a desert.

“Honey,” I say gently, “it takes time. You have to keep trying, show her that you can be trusted.” He shrugs. “And Mark, you’re a mess. You’re so angry and bitter, and the thing is, you should be kissing Elaina’s feet. You should do whatever it takes to get her back. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’re going to lose her.”

My brother puts his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Chas. I want to do the right thing, and I just keep getting further and further away from where I need to be. I’m lost.” He shakes his head, this big, handsome, cat-saving brother of mine, tears dripping out from underneath his hand, and my heart aches.

“Okay. Here’s what to do. Buttercup, down, girl.” I drag my dog off the couch and sit next to Mark, putting my arm around him. “First, you need to get some anger management or something. A psychiatrist, a therapist, something. Would you do that?” He nods. “Then ask Elaina if she’ll go to marriage counseling.”

“That’s a lot of shrinks, Chas.”

“So? You just said you’re lost. This is a way to get found.”

“What else?” he asks.

“You tell Elaina that nothing is more important than her and Dylan, and you want them back. Simple as that, Mark. Don’t tell her that she’s bitter or how she should be feeling, don’t put conditions on it, just tell her. She still loves you, honey.”

“Did she tell you that?” he asks.

“Yes.” His shoulders jerk. “She misses the man you used to be, Mark.”

With that, my brother puts both arms around me and bawls into my shoulder like a one hundred and eighty-five pound baby. After a minute, Buttercup joins in, baying sympathetically, and Mark gives a shaky laugh. I pat his back and tell him he’s going to be just fine.