<em>"Thanks for the ride, Mac," Jack said, jumping out of the bed of the shiny red truck. The old man simply waved, gravel crunched under his tires as he slowly pulled away. Tom closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Honeysuckle. Turning towards the lake, he could hear the tinkling splash of a large mouth bass break through the water snapping up a mosquito and the balmy air kissed his face as it whistled through the grass. He smiled in contentment. In the last six months, his world had been turned upside down, but right now he knew one thing for sure: Jack Thomas Miller was home.  For ten days he  was going to live as if nothing had changed.<br/><br/>Crickets chirped. Soft, sporadic chirps as if they just had the idea to start chirping for the night. It was a little cool for early June as if spring was trying desperately to cling to its last wisps of existence. The fireflies meant it was a losing battle.    <br/><br/>As he made his way up the small slope, the first thing he saw was an old, frayed rope. Hanging from one of the tree's highest branches, it was about three feet long. Years ago - a lifetime ago Jack thought, it had been much longer.  It had only been used once when he tried to be Tarzan and fling himself into the lake one hot summer day. It snapped and broke his shoulder. The remaining three feet was left as a reminder. A testament to his stupidity. Well, that and she wouldn't let him climb up there again.<br/><br/>He didn't know why, but he knew she was there. She had to be.  He didn't miss a beat when he saw her black Sunday shoes from beneath the drooping willow trees. He sighed. He <span class="bbc_u">was</span> home.</em><br/><br/>"Who dares disturb my slumber?" Jack's voice growled. "Tis I...Aladin..." his voice turning to a coo. "Proceed," growling, "And touch nothing but the lamp."