It’s not every day that you get to walk down a long hallway, surrounded on either side by clapping nurses, to ring the bell. It’s not every day that you get to do it with your sister, twin, and best friend, either.

Mackenzie and I have been through the worst and the best together. As identical twins, I guess if one gets cancer, the other one does, too; at least in our case.

But now the long days of pain and sickness, lying in two adjoining beds, are over.

I adjust my pink cowboy hat and grip Mackenzie’s hand even tighter as we reach the bell.

Mom, Dad, and even Riley are crying as we take turns ringing the bell and signing our names on the wall. We are in remission.

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It’s hard being fourteen and bald, but Mackenzie and I made a pact to make the most of it. We already have over twenty hats, headbands, and wigs collected between the two of us. We call it ‘our hairy collection’.

Today is Thursday. On Monday we’ll go back to school for the first time in, well, months. It’s May and there are only two weeks left of school, but we want to say, “Hi,” to our friends a little bit before summer hits.

I fall asleep on the hour-long drive to our ranch from the children’s hospital in New Orleans. Mackenzie is slumped against the window in the seat beside me. Riley wakes me up as we pull into the long, tree-lined lane leading to Golden Creek Ranch.

The leafy green oaks bend over the lane, creating an emerald tunnel. It’s hard to believe it’s almost summer already.

We turn around the bend in the lane, and up ahead I can see the house with its white, stone colonnades and two story wrap-around porches. Giant leafy ferns sit exactly five feet apart along the porches. It still looks the same, and that brings me a sweet sense of relief.

It’s the first time in months that I’m actually coming home without a stomach ache, a headache, and who-knows-what-all that aches. It’s the first time in a long time that I’m coming home cancer-free.

It’s a good feeling.

We step out of the car, and Mackenzie clutches my hand as we climb the great white steps onto the porch. The floor of the balcony above looms gray-white over us.

Dad opens the front door and we step inside. No one says a word.

The last time I came home, Dad carried me through this door and straight up to bed. This time, my eyes aren’t blurry and my head isn’t swimming. I look around.

Straight ahead, the lounge opens up in front of me. Sunshine streams through the rows of huge windows.

An archway to the left separates the dining room, with its rich oak paneling and sturdy furniture, from the lounge. Beyond that lies the great kitchen with its copper stove and granite counters and delicious smells.

Such smells are currently wafting in from that direction, and I know Mamie must be cooking up a feast for supper.

Riley laughs at Mackenzie and me. “Come on, you two look like you’ve forgotten what this house looks like!” he says.

I poke him. “Well, I almost have,” I say, but he’s broken the spell that made us stand so still and silent in our own home.

Mackenzie races me up the staircase beyond the lounge. I’m eager to see if our room looks the same as I remember it. Not the way it looked through pain filled eyes and long, sleepless nights, but the way it looked before.

I throw open the door. Two twin beds sit side-by-side beneath white canopies. The blue-cushioned window seat is still there.

Mackenzie runs eagerly to the window.

“Look, Taylor!” she squeals.

Down below, I can see the creek threading its way through the lush spring grass. In the nearest pasture, two bay horses are trotting along the fence. They toss their dainty heads and pick up their feet; their manes swirl in the breeze.

“Oakley and Stormy!” I yell. Mackenzie dances a little jig around the room.

“I can’t wait to ride Oakley again,” she gasps finally, falling across her bed.

I stare out at our horses again. I just hope Stormy remembers me.

Riley sticks his head in the doorway just then. “Dinner is ready,” he says, flashing us his lightning grin.

We race downstairs.

The dining room is covered with a white lace cloth and set with the good china. It looks fit for a king…or two queens.

Mamie comes in, carrying a platter heaped high with fried chicken. Her large, brown eyes twinkle as she sets it before me.

“I’ll get some fat on those bones of yours, yet,” she grins.

I grin back. Mackenzie and I lost so much weight during our battle with cancer. We weighed ourselves at the hospital before we came home and we were both exactly seventy-seven pounds. Before cancer, I was over ninety.

Because it’s such a special day, Mom insists that the servants join us for supper. While some of the folks around here are still stuck in pre-Civil War days, our servants are treated more like family.

Mamie and her husband, Charlie, who helps tend the horses, sit at the foot of the table. Rachel, the housekeeper, sits on one side while Rebecca, the gardener, and Thomas, Charlie and Mamie’s son, sit on the other side.

I join hands with Rebecca on my left, and with Mackenzie on the other side, and bow my head while Dad blesses the food. His prayer seems to go on forever, and I think he thanks God for health at least three times, but for once, I don’t really care.

I’m starving, so I pile my plate high with fried chicken, potatoes, and corn. But my skinny little body can only handle about a third of it. The doctors told us this would happen, but I didn’t realize I could only handle this little pile of food.

I glance worriedly at Mamie. I hope she isn’t offended by how little I take. Nothing is wrong with her food, after all.

She just smiles at me.

“You just wait another month or so, and you’ll be rivaling Thomas with your plateful, child,” is all she says.

After supper, even though it is only seven o’clock, I stumble up to bed. I’m exhausted.