Most of the furred gypsy moth eggs lovingly insulated by their long-dead mothers’ body hair will perish during that unusually cold winter, and in the spring, the leaves will return. More plentiful than before. By that time, Julius Simmons will have served nine months for the shooting, in self-defense, of Vinny LaRosa. Vinny will wheel his chair into the courtroom to protest Julius’s pardon and release. The courtroom will echo with islanders’ outraged cries when the two-to-four-year prison sentence (attempted manslaughter and criminal possession of a weapon) is overturned. Judge Harvey Matthews will mention the tragic death of Brooks Marshall Simmons in his final statement, and some of those present, Enzo LaRosa for one, will think of that old biblical saying. An eye for an eye.
But for now, let the people of Avalon Island enjoy the last night of that eventful summer of ’92. The whistling song of Singing Beach calls hundreds of islanders to the shore, sparklers and cold beers in hand, ready to sing “God Bless America” as fireworks light up the sea and a trail of paper lanterns dots the horizon like a ribbon aflame.
Let the girl (almost a woman) with the sun-kissed shoulders run across the smooth wet sand, take her brother by the hand, pull him toward the woods for one more game before night falls. You can play the hero, she promises.
Let the men and women of Avalon Island, East and West, play make-believe—pretend they control life and death, war and peace, their kings and queens and workers and servants and country, and the warbirds they bring to life with aluminum and steel, baptized by fire. Let them believe—for one last night—they are immortal.
Acknowledgments
My earliest notes for The Gypsy Moth Summer are decades old.
One of my first creative writing assignments in college—back when I thought I’d deliver on my parents’ wish for me to become a lawyer—resulted in a character sketch of the Colonel. That sketch turned into a story, then a novella, then an opening chapter that I revised once every year or so. I rewrote that first chapter from the Colonel’s point of view, from Dom’s, from Maddie’s, and, once (I am ashamed to admit) from the perspective of the gypsy moth caterpillars, whose cack-cacking drone seemed to call to me. It was a story and world I could not forget.
Thank you to Elizabeth Beier, my editor, my mentor, guide, and friend, for bringing The Gypsy Moth Summer to life, and for accepting both the beauty and tragedy of Avalon Island, and my own perspective. Your positivity is an incredible gift and has taught me so much these past five years.
To Maria Massie, my agent and endlessly supportive friend, I would be lost without your strength, wisdom, and wit. Thank you for always making me laugh, even in the toughest times.
To the hardworking team at St. Martin’s Press—Nicole Williams, Brittani Hilles, Courtney Reed, and Brant Janeway, and publishers, Sally Richardson and Jennifer Enderlin—thank you for your faith in me.
Deep gratitude to my earliest readers, writers Amy Bloom, Francine Prose, Caroline Leavitt, Joanna Rakoff, Matthew Thomas, Kaitlyn Greenidge, Scott Blackwood, Sophie McManus, and Rick Sayre; and independent bookstore owners and sellers Mary Cotton (Newtonville Books), Christine Onorati (WORD Bookstores), Mia Wigmore (Diesel Brentwood), and Andrew Unger (Kepler Books). To all the bookstores that have hosted me and supported my books, thank you. You make our world a better place.
To my children, Luca and Cecilia, your imagination and bigheartedness is the purest form of inspiration I’ve known. You’ve had to sacrifice so much for mommy’s books. Someday, I hope you will understand why I couldn’t play LEGOs with you all those hours I spent working. You taught me to love, and to be loved—a knowledge that enhances every word I write. Special thanks to Luca, whose love of Greek mythology inspired so much of this book, especially the ending. Never stop reading and sharing your brilliant stories.
Mille grazie to the Sackett Street writers who taught me how to write.
Thank you to the literary communities of NYC and Los Angeles, and to the bookish community online. My friends on social media, I heard every one of your cheers and they helped me bash on.
Long Island, my home island, thank you for your beautiful beaches and forests, which supplied endless atmospheric inspiration.
Special thanks to friends (and brilliant artists) Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, Amy Shearn, Kris Widger, Lisa Desimini, and Matt Mahurin, who were there when I needed them most.
Thank you to my two families—the Fierros and the Feinsteins. Grazie to mio padre Salvatore Fierro for the gypsy moth caterpillar illustration at the beginning of the book. And special thanks to Howie, who read the earliest versions of The Gypsy Moth Summer and reminded me again and again that it was a story that needed to be told.
To my literary kindred spirit, my best friend and forever reader, Caeli Wolfson Widger, thank you.
To Justin Feinstein, a partner in the truest sense—ti amo. Every word I write is dedicated to you and exists because of you. You are my everything.