Bruce knows that address off memory as well, now. He's glad that it didn't need to change; still at least half a tick mortified at himself that he didn't know sooner, but they all had things going on, at the time. Between his guilt over Clark and his own wounded inability to bond over grief, he avoided her proverbial gaze, and he feels lesser for it in retrospect. That in mind, he's grateful he was able to help at all. (And that there's now one less predatory bank in rural America. Little bonuses.)

Back to the car. Clark still given domain over the steering wheel, having done nothing (so far) to warrant losing access.

"She doing okay?"

Probably she is doing great, in at least one respect, with her son alive again. But, you know. He buckles up. Reaffixes his sunglasses.