Sam Malone had been in his bar alone for the first time in a long time. He had just gotten back from his disasterous "self-help" sail around the carribbean and he was still getting used to being back in his New England state home. It was still summer and mother nature still had plenty of heat to give off. The humidity and hot stickiness was the only thing Sam had found familiar. His own bar was not even familiar to him, especially after he had sold it to the Lillian corporation and Rebecca Howe got her hands on it.

A flash of lightning slit Sam's eyes with it's blinding light. He jolted and rubbed his eyes; he knew there was a storm coming today but he wasn't expecting that at the moment it happened. Sure enough thunder boomed shortly after the flash. He sighed because he knew that it was going to be a long, slow night thanks to the storm and the fact it was a Tuesday night. Only regulars like Norm, Cliff, Frasier, Phil, and big Paul would be here, maybe Lilith, too. Come to think of it they were the only regulars that still came after Sam hit the waters sailing. Skinny Paul had stopped coming around and so didn't Harry the Hat, which was just as well because they were nothing but troublemakers. Still, there was something about their absense that made Sam miss the old times when he was running things. Also, although he tried not to think about her, that one special lady that wouldn't leave his psyche...

"Good afternoon, Sam," Rebecca greeted cordially.

"Good afternoon, Rebecca," Sam greeted back.

"You looked lost in the thought for a minute there," she said shaking off her coat and hair and then hanging her coat on the rack. "Can't imagine what you were thinking."

"Well, actually I ah..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. When I said that I didn't mean I actually cared."

"Of course," Sam said, shaking that burn off. He learned to take things like that well after working with Carla for so many years. Rebecca had begun to walk into her office but Sam just had to say something.

"Rebecca?"

"Yes," she answered, turning around.

"Uh, have you ever been to Maine?"

"Yes, I have. I've been to all the New England states. Why did you ask me that?"

"Does it storm in Maine? Like, you know, thunderstorm storm?"

Rebecca gave him one of her famous "are-you-really-this-stupid?" looks. Sometimes Rebecca could do a better job cutting him down to size than Diane could. Probably because he knew deep in his soul that Diane never tried to hurt him where he knew Rebecca wouldn't have cared if she did.

"Yes, Sam. Everybody everywhere expieriences thunderstorms. Maine can get storms worse than what we're getting today. Now do you have anymore useless questions for me to answer?"

"Yeah, how come that guy sings 'It Never Rains in Southern California'?"

"I grew up there and while it doesn't happen very often, yes we still do have thunderstorms. Now if you'll excuse me..."

"Hey, Diane..."

"Rebecca!"

"What?"

"You just called me Diane."

"I called you Rebecca."

"No, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did!"

"Excuse me," an unfamiliar female voice spoke up. "Is this a bad time to ask for a drink?"

Sam was dumbstruck. Not only had he not realized he had a customer, but he had realized how much the customer looked like Diane. Rebecca looked at the customer, back at Sam and then to the customer again. She scuffed and headed into her office.

"Well, no," Sam said, coming onto her in both a concious and sub-concious way. He patted the barstool where he remembered Diane sat on the night Sumner left her. "Have a seat right here."

"Okay..." she was a little hesitant, but she sat down anyway. "Thank you."

"What would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a decaf Irish coffee. No sugar, please."

"Okay," Sam was now trying not to show how creeped out he was by this girl. "I hope you didn't walk here in the rain all by yourself."

"I can't stay long. I'm getting married tonight. My fiancee just dropped me off while he did a last minute errand."

Okay, now he was creeped out. Who was this girl? Is this look-alike going to rehash the story of Diane all over again?

"Honey, I've got it," an unfamiliar man said, holding up a shopping bag.

"Oh, good!" The lady got up and ran to him.

"We should probably start heading to the airport to beat the rush hour traffic."

"Oh, but we're so early! I just got my drink..."

"Take this with you," Sam said, offering her the mug full of hot coffee and whiskey.

"I couldn't possibly..."

"Just take it. I've got a dozen others just like it."

The customer looked at her husband who nodded in approval and then she looked back at Sam. He was more than willing to give up a coffee mug to this somewhat familiar stranger. She ran to Sam, took her drink, and gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. Sam kissed her back to let her know she was welcome. That was it; on to the airport they went with no words exchanged to each other. The customer left as mysteriously as she came in. Sam walked over to the jukebox, dropped a dime in it, then punched in H5. Albert Hammond sang how people tell you it never rains in Southern California, but don't they warn you? It pours man, it pours.