“I think if we are always going above and beyond, people remember that,” I say. “What did you tell me? Things go viral?”

Evan nods. “Like wildfire.” He looks at me and then the room. “Okay, okay, I get it. Let’s go make a cake.”

We head outside, and I shoot a wary look at the sky. “It can’t rain,” I say, even as ominous clouds begin to crowd out the blue sky, and the wind shakes the trees. “It’s their anniversary.”

“You can’t control the weather, Mom,” Evan says. “Shocking to realize, isn’t it?”

A small smile crosses my face. “It is, actually,” I say with a laugh.

We head into the kitchen, where I begin to pull out flour, sugar and butter from the cabinet and refrigerator.

“What kind of cake?” Evan asks.

“I was thinking a traditional white cake with buttercream frosting, and that we’d write on top of it,” I say. I stop and grab my phone, pulling up a string of emails. “Here, why don’t you take a look at the messages Mr. DeLancey’s sent to me.”

“I love that he’s in his eighties and knows how to email and text,” Evan says.

He leans his long body against the island and grows silent, his eyes moving left and right as he reads the messages, his index finger tapping my phone every few seconds. When he looks up, his eyes are soft.

“These give me chills, Mom,” he says. “They are so sweet. He really loves his wife.”

I nod. “That’s why I want to do something special for them,” I say. “It’s rare. Their family is having a big celebration next weekend, but Bob wanted to surprise his wife, too. We were thinking champagne and cake on the beach at sunset.”

“I have an idea after reading his emails to you,” Evan says. “Isn’t a sixtieth wedding anniversary the diamond anniversary?”

I nod.

“And did you notice he calls his wife ‘cupcake’?” Evan asks.

I shake my head. “I guess I didn’t.”

Evan continues, his deep voice rising in excitement. “What if we made cupcakes and then arranged them in the shape of a diamond? And what if we decorated the cupcakes with little diamonds? I’m sure that bakery downtown has edible decorations. Cupcakes are so trendy right now.”

“I love it!” I say. “When did you get to be so smart?”

“Birth,” Evan says, walking over to hand me my phone and nudge my side with his bony elbow. “Good genes.”

“My genes,” I say.

“Dad might not be street smart,” Evan says, “but he’s book smart.”

“I’ll give him that,” I say.

I grab my dog-eared version of The Silver Palate Cookbook, written by famed chef Julee Rosso, who, coincidentally, owns and runs Saugatuck’s beautiful Wickwood Inn, which has been in business for decades.