Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir

by Aspen Matis

her son. In the new pearl dawn, Justin drove us into sun-glinted Seattle, its buildings high and June-sky blue. He led me to a crowded area of concrete and glass skyscrapers, people in suits striding. We entered a bright-green and silver storefront called Fidelity, a huge television with fiscal news analysis blaring. “We’d like to open some accounts,” he told a lanky woman in a chic salmon dress-suit, her blonde hair pulled back in an elegant topknot. He took my hand. “This is my wife.”