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They drove around the neighborhood for close to two hours before abandoning their search for the house that might belong to Bruce Springsteen. Angie probably would have continued searching longer if she had not needed to get home before the nanny had to leave. They drove up and down the same few streets several times, Angie inspecting each house before deciding that none looked like the kind of house in which he would live. When Silvia asked her how she knew what kind of house he would live in, Angie said that she didn’t know, but she knew that it couldn’t be any of the ones they had seen today. Silvia didn’t want to tell Angie that she suspected his house was probably secluded and well hidden from street view. She didn’t want to ruin the little bit of happiness that Angie seemed to derive from the prospect of finding his house. It was this very sort of thing that brought Angie to life; that turned her from a listless young woman who apathetically stared out at the world, from her three million dollar house, into a bubbly girl full of energy and curiosity.
While Silvia knew that she would soon droop back into a gloomy state, she didn’t expect her slump so soon after they got home.
“I feel so tired,” she said, as if she barely had energy to talk. “Would you mind watching Isabella while I sleep for a little?”
“I’d love to,” said Silvia. “Oh, and I brought her some candy.”
At this, Angie turned around sharply and said, “Don’t let her see the candy until after dinner. And then, she can only have one or two pieces. She gets too hyper.”