I passed close enough to see the floor mat through the glass.

A blue leather edge stuck out from under it, and the gold lettering on the spine caught the sun: First Oak Ridge Bank.

I didn’t open the door.

I didn’t reach through the window.

David came down the porch steps with the bank application in his hand.

He stopped at the curb.

“That’s the duplicate book,” he said.

“I can see the bank strip,” I said.