Chapter 13

They'd been married for seven years when Henry turned seventy. He was as vital as ever, worked on just as many movies, and was constantly in demand. People who worked with him saw no difference in him, but Allegra began to see subtle changes in him after his birthday. He tired more easily, although he would never admit it to her or himself. She protected him as best she could from his demanding lifestyle and still-booming career. He was scoring more movies than ever before, and traveling even more than he used to. He had worked on two movies in France and one in England in the past year, in addition to the American ones.

Allegra went on all his trips with him and kept his life organized. She was glad they had never had children. They wouldn't have been able to spend enough time with them. Henry lived the lives of ten people, with the strength of twenty men. He had the vitality of a forty-year-old, and looked sixty at most. She saw to it that he ate the right food and took care of his health.

She was shocked when a bad cold he caught on a flight from London turned into bronchitis, and then pneumonia. He usually never got sick.

"You're working too hard," she chided him gently. "You can't run all over Europe and juggle three films in L.A. at the same time. No one can do that." But he had been for a long time. Nothing slowed him down, and his fresh new ideas for scores were the envy of everyone in the business. He was nominated for another Oscar but didn't win that time.

Once he had pneumonia, the doctor told him he had to slow down, and Henry knew he did too. It was another three weeks before Allegra discovered why he was so sick. It wasn't the travel, or not entirely. Henry finally confessed. The doctor told him it was unfair not to tell Allegra. He had known for five months that he had a rare form of stomach cancer. It was considered incurable. Chemo wouldn't cure it, but it would slow it down for a while, which was the best they could hope for. Henry faced the prognosis bravely. All he wanted was to continue his work until his last breath and to spend every moment he could with Allegra. Chemotherapy would buy him a little more time, but the side effects would severely impact his quality of life. He decided it wasn't worth it. He didn't want the last months of his life to be riddled with pain and nausea. He didn't want Allegra to have that as her final memories of them. He had remained staunch and stoic. It wasn't the end yet, but the doctor shared with her that they were looking at months, not years. She would have some more time with him until he got weaker.

Allegra didn't leave Henry alone for a second after that. She was his shadow. She knew what he needed and wanted before he even thought of it himself. She made working possible and comfortable for him, once they cured the pneumonia. But the doctor said it would happen again, as his body became less and less able to fight off infections. There were other maladies too that would plague him, as his body's defenses slowly shut down. There was still time for chemo, if Henry agreed to it, but he refused. He wanted to be fully functioning, or as close to it as possible, to the end. He was still supervising recording sessions and working in his studio until all hours. It was hard to believe he was sick. Allegra began to think the doctors had made a mistake in their diagnosis. He seemed better at times.

She and Henry went on walks together, although he tired faster now. They talked endlessly. He felt as though he had to say everything to her that he might forget later. He was braced for a very rough patch at the end, but he wasn't there yet. He wanted to fully function for as long as he was able. Allegra begged him to try the chemo. He could always stop it if he hated it and it made him too sick, but he continued to refuse. He was a noble warrior and intended to go out as one, so she'd be proud of him. He didn't want to give up what they had. It was too precious to him, and so was she. He wanted her to remember their best days, not the end.

They didn't tell anyone that Henry was sick. He didn't want to be seen that way, as diminished and weak, less than he had been before. He had incredible stamina and courage. Allegra tried to share her own strength with him so he would live longer. She prayed for a miracle but it didn't come. She had an inexhaustible supply of love for him. She would have given him her own life if she could.

—

They shared a thousand precious moments in his final months, and she cherished each of them like jewels to be treasured. She knew she would live from them for the rest of her life. The journey would be hard without him. Harder than everything she'd lived through before, because she had shared such intense happiness with him. But she knew she would always feel him near her. Their last days together were among the greatest gifts he ever gave her.

He worked hard until the end, and the music he composed was beautiful, with a bittersweet haunting quality to it. His final work was like an explosion of joy, the culmination of a lifetime. He dedicated it to her and called it simply "Allegra," the joyous one.

Jordan had stopped coming to see him. He had come to love Henry as best he could and couldn't bear to see him so ill. He cried like a child the last time he left. He knew he wouldn't see him again. He had no words to tell Allegra what he felt, and was bowled over by their courage. Their love sustained them and gave them strength.

Allegra was with Henry every instant of every day and night, cherishing him, loving him, feeding him, nurturing him, making him laugh when he could, talking for hours, or watching him when he slept. He took as little medication as possible for the pain. He wanted to be alert to share every moment with her, and not dull his senses or sleep his final days away.

On his last day, he got up and they took a walk in the garden. It was a beautiful summer day. There were butterflies everywhere, and a hummingbird stopped in midair to watch them. Henry pointed it out to her, and the flowers were in full bloom all around them. He seemed suddenly stronger, he talked about his boyhood, and his children, and was sorry he hadn't gotten to know them. But Allegra had filled every space in his heart for the best seven years of his life. It was a gift they had given each other. Together they were more than either of them had ever been before. For the first time in her life, she had known that she was truly loved, and nothing could take that away. Nothing would erase it or change it or spoil it or cast a shadow on the love they had shared.

"You know," she said to Henry quietly as they walked back to the house. He had more energy than he'd had in weeks. "Few people are as lucky as we are," she said peacefully. "Most people never know a love like this. They waste their time and their lives with all the wrong ones." Allegra had done that herself, chasing her mother for years, hoping her father would come home, not to neglect her again and reject her, but to love her. She had tried to convince her grandparents to love her by making herself as small as possible, and hanging on to Shep in desperation when he was too broken to love her. She had chased all the shadows and the dreams until she met Henry, and he had given her his heart and his trust and his joy of living so gracefully, generously, and simply. She didn't have to fight for it, or beg, or convince him.

"I was so lucky I found you," he said, smiling at her, "it was a miracle. Thank God you were brave enough to come to L.A. Imagine if you hadn't. We would have missed everything."

"I was meant to be here," she said simply. "I was sent to you." Neither of them doubted it.

"And I had waited for you for years. You could have come a bit faster," he said, and laughed. His laugh was still strong, like his love for her, and his spirit.

"I was busy," she said primly, "chasing all the wrong people down all the wrong paths. They were my lesson to learn before I met you," and she had loved working with him.

"You are my lesson," he said proudly. "I learn from you every day."

They went back to their bedroom, and he lay down. He could see the garden from their bed. The windows were open and there was a soft breeze in the room. He loved seeing the vibrant colors, and he had a piece of music in his head. "I'm going to compose later," he said to her. He hadn't been to his studio in three days. He had a half-written score on his desk he wanted to finish.

She lay down next to him, and Henry laid his head on her shoulder and she gently stroked his face and his hair. He smiled, loving the feel of her fingers on his skin—they felt like angel kisses, he had once said. "I love you, Allegra," he said with a smile, and with a gentle breath he was gone, like a whisper in her heart. He hadn't said goodbye, but he didn't need to. She knew how much they loved each other. Every moment of their seven years together had been a love poem from beginning to end, a song of joy. His love had washed away all the sorrows of her past and filled her heart with happiness, enough to last for the rest of her life.