This one isn't happy so much as an enormous relief. As we shuffle through Cormac McCarthy's apocalyptic wasteland, we need two comforts: the love of parent for child and vice-versa--which we get throughout the story--and the occasional tiny burst of good fortune.
From Cormac McCarthy's The Road:
On the outskirts of the city they came to a supermarket. A few old cars in the trashstrewn parking lot...In the produce section in the bottom of the bins they found a few ancient runner beans and what looked to have once been apricots, long dried to wrinkled effigies of themselves...By the door were two softdrink machines that had been tilted over into the floor and opened with a prybar. Coins everywhere in the ash. He sat and ran his hand around in the works of the gutted machines and in the second one it closed over a cold metal cylinder. He withdrew his hand slowly and sat looking at a Coca Cola.
What is it, Papa?
It's a treat. For you.
What is it?
Here. Sit down.
He slipped the boy's knapsack straps loose and set the pack on the floor behind him and he put his thumbnail under the aluminum clip on the top of the can and opened it. He leaned his nose to the slight fizz coming from the can and then handed it to the boy. Go ahead, he said.
The boy took the can. It's bubbly, he said.
He looked at his father and then tilted the can and drank. He sat there thinking about it. It's really good, he said.